


Safe at Home

by screamingsongbird16



Category: Joker Game (Anime)
Genre: Awkward Sakuma, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, recovering from injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-02 19:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12732834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingsongbird16/pseuds/screamingsongbird16
Summary: After the train wreck in Germany, and rescue by the rest of D-Agency, Miyoshi has a long road to recovery. (Follow up fic to aLIvE)





	1. Chapter 1

            Hatano took off his cap as he entered the plane’s cargo hold.  He wondered how many favors Yuuki-san had called in for this.  Not that he cared what this had cost.  In his opinion, they were favors well spent.  The thought of what would have happened if Yuuki-san hadn’t been able to get them all, or at least some of them here . . . those were not good thoughts.  And Hatano couldn’t afford to think about that now.

            “Report,” Yuuki ordered, blunt and to the point as always.  But usually, he looked at the spy he was giving that order to, when he gave it.  As long as there was nothing in between them.  But this time, Yuuki didn’t look up from the pile of blankets that Miyoshi was buried under.

            Hatano didn’t take offense.  He only rolled up his sleeves as he hurried forward, obeying even as he prepared for his next task

            “Everyone made their check ins.  No complications.  Oz Protocol is proceeding as planned.  When’s the last time you changed the hot water bottle?”

            “Half an hour ago,” Yuuki answered.  “But we’re down to the last one.”

            Hatano nodded, then remembered Yuuki wasn’t watching him.  “I expected we’d be out about now.  I’ll keep him warm.  But I think I should sanitize his wounds first.  With your permission?”

            This time it was Yuuki who nodded.  So Hatano got to work.  He peeled the blankets away from Miyoshi’s unconscious form and was pleased to notice that Miyoshi shivered slightly.

            “That’s good.  If he’s shivering, his hypothermia’s not as bad now.”  It was when they weren’t shivering that you ran into problems, Hatano knew.  It meant that their body was giving up the fight to keep warm.  That had been about the stage that Miyoshi had been in when they dug him out of his grave.  Yuuki had prioritized warming his core to treating his wounds, so after helping Yuuki-san transfer Miyoshi to the airfield from the safe house, Hatano had only hastily made sure Miyoshi’s injuries were stable before running back out into the night and making sure everything was on track for all the others to get out of the country by various means. 

            Now came the fun part.  Which wasn’t really going to be fun at all.  Make no mistake, Hatano wasn’t squeamish.  He didn’t flinch from the sight of blood.  But he didn’t like seeing his friends injured anywhere close to the extent that Miyoshi was. 

            The hot water bottle had been placed on Miyoshi’s chest.  It was still lukewarm, so Hatano moved it, carefully easing it under Miyoshi so that it fit beneath the small of his back.  Miyoshi still needed all the warmth he could get, in Hatano’s less than professional opinion. 

            Then he got the surgeon’s kit and the medical disinfectant.  And after that . . . well let’s just say it was lucky that Miyoshi was unconscious and stayed unconscious.  The train accident had happened . . . nearly a week ago now.  In the best of times, the German hospital would have washed Miyoshi’s “corpse” but right after a train wreck was not the best of times.  With an onslaught of patients and corpses, they had cut corners.  Which, had actually probably been Miyoshi’s saving grace, but meant that there had been absolutely no chance of infection being washed away.  It was a good thing they hadn’t looked closely at him again, or else they would have noticed the signs of infection setting in.  Hell, inside the stab wound in Miyoshi’s chest was a piece of freaking paper.  A wrapper of some kind, too saturated with blood for Hatano to tell what it had once been.  Or remove it in one piece.  He ended up needing Yuuki’s help, having Yuuki hold the wound open with one pair of forceps while he fished all the damn half-dissolved pieces out of the wound with another.  Then he had to cut away some flesh that had become necrotic.  Thankfully, there wasn’t much of that.  Then came disinfecting, and finally cauterizing, because he’d had to cut away too much flesh for stitches to be reliable, and the cauterizing would help cut down on infection too.

            “Good work,” Yuuki said, when Hatano had finished with all the worst parts, and had moved on to cleaning up.  And despite the grimness of the situation, Hatano couldn’t help but smile.  Compliments from Yuuki-san were few and far between.  So they meant a lot. 

            “Thank you, sir,” Hatano said, as he fished out a syringe of antibiotics and prepped it.  Then he injected it into Miyoshi’s arm.  Then . . . then came something that he knew Yuuki-san might not approve of.  But Hatano planned to do it anyway.  He fished something else out of the medkit.  Something he himself had put in it before their plane had touched down in Germany, and that no one else had been the wiser about.  He’d counted on the cold weather to keep it at the right temperature, and it seemed he’d been right to do so.

            “What is that?” Yuuki asked sharply.

            “Blood,” said Hatano.  “More specifically, my blood.”

            “What?”  As expected, Yuuki-san did not sound happy.

            “I drew it on the plane ride here.  I thought we might need it.  Since Miyoshi and I have the same blood type,” said Hatano unrepentantly, as he set up a drip line, to feed his blood into Miyoshi’s arm.  If anyone had seen what he’d been doing, they would have stopped him.  Since he’d gotten those head injuries in France, he’d been sidelined from so many missions.  Yuuki was putting off his chemical reconditioning until spring, at the very earliest.  Everyone was handling him with the kid gloves.  And Hatano couldn’t completely deny that they had good reason for that, but there was still a lot he could offer D-Agency.  His blood was one of those things.  “Don’t worry.  I drank plenty of juice and water, and slept as much as I could, until we got to work.  I’ve drawn my own blood before.  I knew how it would affect me.”

            Yuuki gave him a dark look that promised that this conversation wasn’t over, only postponed.  So Hatano would get the chance to tell him another time, about how fighters at his father’s dojo used to draw out a cup of their own blood, a few days before an important competition, and then feed it back into their own bodies before the competition to boost their strength.  Hatano himself had done it before, and could vouch for it working.  But only with blood that had time to sit for a few days.  Which was why he hadn’t waited until now to draw it.  He’d had the feeling Miyoshi would need as much strength as possible.

            With the blood transfusion drip in place, Hatano decided it was time to clean up.  He gathered up the bloodied bandages, cloths, and tools, and stuffed them in a bag, to either be cleaned or thrown away later.  Then he used another cloth to wipe up what blood remained, and clean his hands.  Then, with all that done, he looked to Yuuki again.

            “Should I keep him warm, now?”

            Yuuki gave a curt nod.  So Hatano stripped down to his underwear, and laid down beside Miyoshi on the stretcher, and nestled up against him, sharing his body heat.  Yuuki lifted up the blankets and covered them both, to their shoulders.  Then he sat back down and looked at his two subordinates.  Hatano couldn’t read the expression on his face.

            “How long before we leave?” he asked, just as much because he really wanted to know as because he needed something to distract him from his current situation.

            It shouldn’t have been awkward.  Technically.  Supposedly.  Their training had taught them exactly what to do in situations like this.  Sharing body heat was the best, most reliable way to treat hypothermia.  It was what Miyoshi needed now.  And it wasn’t supposed to be any big deal, nothing worth more than a few lighthearted jests if anyone learned about this.  But it felt weird to Hatano.  Only a few years ago, he wouldn’t have voluntarily done this for anyone.  But then he’d met Jitsui, and ended up doing this for him every night for over a year, because Jitsui got freakishly cold, and couldn’t stop shivering in his sleep during cold nights, and it had been bad to the point where Hatano was afraid it was going to get Jitsui cut from training.  Then, even after a year apart, Hatano and Jitsui had fallen back into their pattern of sharing body heat quickly enough.  But sharing body heat with Miyoshi was very different.  It felt . . . weird.  He smelled all wrong, and he was bigger than Jitsui.  There was no mistaking him for Jitsui, and Hatano wasn’t really sure how he felt about this.  He didn’t really want to think about it either.  Yes, saving Miyoshi’s life was definitely worth some discomfort on his part, but if he didn’t have to think about this then he wasn’t going to.

            “We’re scheduled to depart in the morning.  Try to sleep.”

            “Yes,” Hatano agreed and closed his eyes.  But he really wasn’t tired.  He knew what Yuuki-san was worried about.  And why he had been the one chosen to go home with Yuuki on the plane, even though several of the others had better medical skills than him, and literally every other spy in D-Agency would have been better at keeping Miyoshi warm than him.  His head injuries still had some lingering side effects and one of them was crippling exhaustion.  Bouts of that were getting fewer and farer between, thankfully, and they had narrowed down some of the criteria for what triggered them.  Now they knew that Hatano currently wasn’t affected by them until he’d been awake for over twelve hours, as long as he’d gotten a full night’s sleep before.  But stress made those episodes more likely to occur once he’d been awake more than twelve hours.  And if this mission was anything, it was stressful as hell.  If Hatano didn’t get some sleep soon, then after he hit the twelve hour mark, he was probably going to crash and crash hard.  At least if he went to sleep now, he’d be able to wake up if Yuuki-san or Miyoshi needed him.

            His eyes popped back open as he felt a gentle hand slide underneath his head.  He blinked at Yuuki, confused, but didn’t resist as his spymaster lifted his head enough to slide a folded shirt under his head, to substitute as a pillow.

            Hatano closed his eyes again and relaxed, as he felt Yuuki-san tucking the covers in around him and Miyoshi more securely, to keep the warmth in.  “Good night, Grandfather,” was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back this time.  Miyoshi was still far from out of the woods.  And it was him Yuuki-san was focused on taking care of right now.  So . . . probably not the time for jests or . . . or whatever it was Hatano was actually doing when he called Yuuki-san “Grandfather.”  So instead he just nestled closer to Miyoshi’s side and wrapped an arm around him, to transfer more heat, and did his best to clear his mind so that he could fall asleep.  He wouldn’t let his old injuries make him useless if Yuuki-san or Miyoshi needed him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Yuuki finished tucking in his two spies and couldn’t help but think . . . too many sentimental things that he didn’t have time for.

            There was a part of him, a large part of him, that was berating himself over his foolishness.  There was no getting around the fact that he had put the lives of all of his spies in jeopardy to save just one of them.  But . . . he would do it again.  And he knew . . . wrong though it may have been, that any one of his boys would also do the same thing again.  That this hadn’t just been them following orders.  They had wanted to do this.

            But that didn’t change how stupid and dangerous this had all been.

            It was rare for Yuuki to act so rashly.  And technically he could justify this, would do so when it came time to inform his higher ups, though they wouldn’t be getting the full details.  Miyoshi was one of Japan’s greatest assets.  Losing him was effectively losing one ninth of Japan’s intelligence force.  And if they were to have any hope of winning this war that they were so mired in, they needed all the intelligence they could get.  Brute force would only get a country with such a relatively small population so far.  But that still hadn’t made it a good gamble to risk the other eight ninths of Japan’s intelligence force to bring him home alive.  Risking one, maybe two of the others would have been acceptable.  Three at most, since Miyoshi was his best, and brightest, and one of the only two men Yuuki could possibly leave in charge of D-Agency when his time was done.  But bringing all of them had made chances of success so much higher.  Two to dig Miyoshi’s coffin out of the ground and clean up the site afterwards, one to drive the getaway car, four to keep watch over the cemetery’s perimeters, and one floater, to step in and help out if he was needed.  It had been a good plan.  It had worked perfectly.  But that still didn’t mean it had been an acceptable risk. 

            I’m getting too soft, Yuuki thought.  They’re my spies.  Not my sons.

            And yet he couldn’t keep himself from feeling stupid and nervous about his decision to have them both on this plane with him.  Miyoshi, his golden boy, his spy who was most like him, who Yuuki had trusted the most, and grown the most fond of during the course of their training . . . and Hatano, his best fighter and quite possibly his best improvisor, who had somehow wormed his way into Yuuki’s heart to the point where Yuuki couldn’t always remember that he wasn’t the brat’s grandfather.

            In other words, the two people who meant the most to him, in the world, were both in this tiny airplane’s cramped cargo hold, in what might as well be an enemy country, during war time.  And yes, Japan and Germany had officially allied themselves.  But that didn’t mean Germany wouldn’t execute any Japanese spies they might find.

            Yuuki scowled at the wall.  Maybe he should have sent Hatano home via an alternate route.  Switched his role with Jitsui’s, so he’d be travelling with Tazaki and Odagiri.  Or paired him with Fukumoto, and tapped Tazaki to be the guard/medic.  He trusted the others to watch out for Hatano, and take his head injuries and exhaustion into account.  But . . . he trusted himself more.  And he wouldn’t deny to himself that he felt best when his injured spies were where he could see them and personally watch over them.  Not that he could do much for them if the worst happened right now, here in Germany. 

            He checked his watch.  Still several hours before dawn.  Takeoff could not come soon enough.

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: Sorry for all the radio silence lately.  Pre-holiday work has me busy, and writer’s block on my personal projects has had me down for awhile.  But this fic makes a nice change of pace.  Yay fanservice and self gratification. Lol.

 

Before I go, an important announcement!  A second Joker Game fanzine is in the works!  Two of my fics were in the first Fanzine, Double Agent.  And more of my work will be in the follow up, Double Agent 2.  If you have any interest in seeing your fanfiction or fanart in the next Joker Game fanzine, check out this link: <http://i-dedicate-this-kill-to-the-fans.tumblr.com/post/167112059534/double-agent-2-a-joker-game-fanzine>


	2. Chapter 2

            Yuuki woke Hatano up for takeoff.  Breaking his own rule, but it could not be helped.  And luckily, Hatano was too groggy to be cheeky and call him out on it, as he dutifully strapped Miyoshi’s stretcher down, triple checked to make sure the injured spy was secure, then half heartedly buckled himself in, leaving far too much slack.  At least until he caught Yuuki glaring at him.  Then he tightened his makeshift seatbelt to an adequate level.

            Their accommodations weren’t ideal.  There were no seats for passengers in the cargo hold.  The straps that they were using to hold themselves in were actually made to secure boxes, munitions and the like.  But they could make do with them.  And when the plane got moving, Yuuki was glad they had.  To say that takeoff was not smooth would be an understatement.  The plane rattled all around them, jolting them a dozen different ways every few seconds as it got air born, wrenching them hard enough against their restraints that Yuuki would not be surprised if he and Hatano both had bruises.  But once they’d gained sufficient altitude, the ride became significantly smoother.  Not as smooth as say a car, or even a train, but enough that Yuuki did not feel the need to stop Hatano when he unbuckled himself, and went to Miyoshi.

            He watched Hatano check Miyoshi’s pulse, then press the back of his hand to Miyoshi’s forehead to gage his temperature. 

            “Slight, maybe moderate fever,” Hatano finally reported.  “I’m going to give him some water.”

            It wasn’t actually a question or request for permission, but Yuuki still nodded, knowing Hatano would proceed more confidently if he had permission. 

            Hatano went to the crate where the medical supplies had been kept, and opened it.  In addition to their medkits, there were also rations, water, various forged documents, and stacks of cash from several different countries.  Kaminaga had retrieved that crate, on Yuuki’s order, and put it on the plane on their trip to Germany.  Much of its contents had already proven useful.  Most of the forged travel documents and half of the cash had been removed and distributed to the other spies, for their travel home, and in case they needed to make bribes.  The rest would hopefully not be needed, but if trouble arose on one of the stops the plane made for refueling on the way home to Japan, they would have it.  Yuuki had always found it amazing what men would turn a blind eye to when you stuffed their hands with more paper than they could easily hold.

            Hatano poured a cup of clean water from a sealed jug, then took it to Miyoshi.  He carefully, and very slowly, elevated Miyoshi, bracing him up against the wall, then carefully put the cup to Miyoshi’s lips and tilted it back.  Miyoshi may have gained a slight amount of consciousness.  He spluttered the water a bit.  More than he likely would have if he’d remained completely unconscious, and Hatano had been able to simply pour it down his throat.  But Miyoshi didn’t stay aware for long.  By the time the cup was empty, Miyoshi was already back under. 

            “He’s not hypothermic anymore,” said Hatano, as he peeled back the blankets and peeled off the bandages from the wound on Miyoshi’s chest.  “Looks clean now.  Still early stages yet, so it could still turn bad.  Please let me know if you think I’ve gone too long without checking it.”

            “I will,” Yuuki assured him.

            Hatano then proceeded to change Miyoshi’s bandages and get him covered back up.  “Breakfast?” he asked, once he was finished.  And again, Yuuki nodded, giving him permission.

            So Hatano went back over to the crate and started sifting through the rations.  They weren’t complete Imperial rations.  From time to time, Yuuki procured boxes of different Imperial rations, and had his boys sort through them, separating out the less efficient foodstuffs.  Primarily the uncooked rice and barley.  Foodstuffs that were ready to be eaten immediately, without further preparation, were reallocated.  Like what was in the crate Hatano was searching through now.  After a minute, Hatano came up with two packages of biscuits, a tin of mandarin oranges, and a tin of lychee.  He held out the two tins of fruit to Yuuki, in one hand, and the packages of biscuits in the other.  Yuuki wordlessly took one of the biscuit packages, and the tin of oranges.  Hatano sat down, right beside him instead of going back to his makeshift seatbelt, but Yuuki decided to allow it.  For now.  If turbulence picked up, he’d have Hatano go back and strap himself in.

            The biscuits were horrible.  Even for ration biscuits.  But there wasn’t much help for it now.  Yuuki broke pieces off and soaked them in the juice from his oranges, after seeing Hatano doing the same to his with the syrup from his lychee.  That made it tolerable.

            “Yuuki-san?” Hatano asked, midway through their meal.

            Yuuki acknowledged his question by looking at him.

            “You have more experience with this . . . how bad is it really?”

            Despite Hatano’s vague wording, Yuuki knew exactly what he was talking about.  His boys had good medical education, but there was no substitute for experience.  They’d observed moderate injuries being treated, given stitches to corpses, and read about what the signs of blossoming infections were supposed to look like.  But seeing it was very different from reading about it, and Hatano was probably secretly terrified that he was going to miss something important and Miyoshi would suffer the consequences.

            “I’ve seen men survive worse,” Yuuki told his youngest spy.  “But I’ve also seen men die from less.  The state he was in when you went to work on him was bad.  But you cleaned up the wound as well as anyone could.”

            “But do you think it was enough?” asked Hatano.

            “There is no way to know,” Yuuki told him.  Not exactly what Hatano wanted to hear.  But it wasn’t Yuuki’s job to coddle his spies.  Even so . . . “But I’ll be checking his wound each time you change the bandages as well.”

            Hatano nodded, and Yuuki could tell he was relieved, though he gave few visible clues.  He finished up his biscuits and lychee, then went back to Miyoshi and sat his unconscious friend into an upright position again.  Then he brought the tin of remaining lychee syrup to Miyoshi’s lips, just as he had with the water, and coaxed it down Miyoshi’s throat.  This time Miyoshi didn’t splutter or stir.  Yuuki watched as Hatano finished, and got Miyoshi laying back down again.  Then he sat the tin that his oranges had been in, down on the cargo hold floor.  Hatano twisted around to look when he heard the clinking sound and raised one eyebrow in question.

            “Wait an hour.  If he is able to keep the lychee syrup down, we’ll give him that,” said Yuuki, referencing the juice from his oranges.

            “Right,” agreed Hatano.  Then he cleared away his empty tin, and the wrappers from their biscuits, before sitting back down.  Beside Yuuki again.  He held his hands up to face level, and breathed on them to warm them.  Then pulled his coat tighter around himself, making Yuuki frown.

            It was cold in the cargo hold.  And it was only going to get colder as the flight went on.  What little heat had accumulated from three people being in a small space for several hours was now being leached away because of how much colder the air outside the plane was. 

            “Hatano.”

            Hatano perked up.

            “You may leave your clothes on this time.  But get back under the covers with Miyoshi.  The cold is going to compromise his immune system as it is.  We should take preventative measures where we can.”

            “Yes sir,” Hatano said, and stood immediately.  He did shed his shoes and coat before joining Miyoshi under the blankets.  His less sanitary garments, Yuuki noted, with approval.  Hatano was being very mindful about exposing Miyoshi to any possible contaminants.  And this time when he got under the blankets, he nestled up against Miyoshi with less hesitation and awkwardness than last time, Yuuki noted.  Probably just as grateful that he could keep his clothes on this time as for the warmth that he could leach from Miyoshi.  In truth, this arrangement would be beneficial to both his spies. 

            “Sleep more, if you can,” Yuuki advised.  “We have a long flight.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Saying they had several long flights would have been more accurate.  They had to land several times to refuel.  The whole time, Hatano, Yuuki, and of course Miyoshi, remained in the plane’s cargo hold.  The pilot, co-pilot, diplomats, and attendant on board were all able to get off at the different airfields, stretch their legs, sometimes even grab a hot meal before travel resumed.  But the spies had to remain unseen.

            Miyoshi’s fever spiked twice during the trip.  Hatano was very attentive to him, monitoring his condition constantly.  That was much easier for him to do in such close proximity to Miyoshi.  Yuuki had Hatano stay under the blankets with Miyoshi for most of the trip, only getting up to strap himself in during take offs and landings, or when he actually needed to get up for some specific purpose.  Hatano did what needed to be done to keep Miyoshi stable and on the mend, regularly changing his bandages and checking his wound, and giving him medicines and fruit juices.  Once he tried to be sneaky and draw more of his own blood for Miyoshi, but Yuuki had put a stop to that.  And got the explanation for why Hatano had drawn his own blood in the first place.  And though the theory was interesting, Yuuki forbade Hatano from putting it into practice anymore, at least for now.  Other than that incident, Yuuki had no complaints about Hatano’s conduct, but withheld praise.  Handing out too many compliments had never been his way.  And at this point, he thought that too many compliments would worry Hatano more than anything.  Because Miyoshi remained unconscious the entire trip.

            There were moments when Miyoshi managed to become semi-conscious.  Mainly when Hatano was pouring liquids down his throat.  But he never truly woke.  Not until they began their final descent into the Sansaka Airfield and the plane began rattling so violently, it seemed the aircraft was on the verge of being torn apart.  A particularly violent jolt of the plane was what finally woke Miyoshi.  It hurt him enough that he cried out in pain.  And after him being silent so long, Yuuki found himself just as startled by the outburst as Hatano, though he hid it better.

            “Miyoshi!” Hatano, strapped down so that he was seated near Miyoshi, immediately reached for him.  His hand found Miyoshi’s and he held on tight.  Though Yuuki realized with a distinct lack of amusement that Hatano was only able to reach Miyoshi because he’d left his makeshift seatbelt so loose.

            “Ha . . . ta . . . no . . .” rasped Miyoshi, his voice so raw it was unrecognizable. 

            “Yeah.  It’s me.”  Hatano grinned.  His usual grin.  And Yuuki had to admit to himself that it was good to see it again.  “Welcome home.”

            “Home –”

            The plane lurched again as the wheels hit the runway.  Strapped down as he was, Miyoshi stayed in place fine.  Hatano on the other hand, nearly went flying.  Then he started cursing as he settled back in his makeshift seat as the plane continued to rattle all around them.

            “Worst landing ever,” he grumbled, and rested a hand almost protectively on Miyoshi’s chest, as he glared at the cargo hold around them.  “But the good news is, we just touched down in Japan.”

            Miyoshi looked like he was having trouble taking everything in.  Or maybe just like he was having a hard time understanding Hatano.  When he spoke, he sounded so weak and bewildered.  “I’m . . . a . . . live.”

            “Yes.”  Hatano gave a wavering smile that Yuuki hadn’t ever seen before.

            “The . . . o . . . thers?”  It seemed Miyoshi’s mind was catching up faster than expected.  Yuuki wondered exactly how much he remembered. 

            “They’re all fine,” Hatano answered him.  “The cleanup went without a hitch, the sole witness is not a problem, and everyone made their final check ins before Yuuki-san and I got you on this plane.  He issued an Oz Protocol.”

            Miyoshi gave a strained, exhausted smile.  “There’s . . . no . . . place . . .-”

            “Like home,” Hatano finished.  “Yes.  Oh, by the way, thanks a lot.”

            “Hm?”

            “You had to nearly get yourself killed in a train wreck.  The one thing we didn’t train for.  Now Yuuki-san’s going to add that to the curriculum, you know.  We’re all going to have to figure out contingency plans for what we should do if we get ourselves impaled by railroad debris.  So when I say thanks a lot, I really mean thanks for nothing.”

            Yuuki would have smirked at those words.  But Hatano’s smile was shaky and strained, and for a moment he looked worse than Yuuki had seen him since those days following his injury on the Hakusan Maru.  But the moment didn’t last long, and a forced smirk was soon firmly in place on his face.  And when he continued, his voice, at least, seemed better.  Less on the verge of breaking.

            “Seriously, though,” said Hatano.  “You gave us all a scare.”

            Miyoshi licked his lips to wet them, and swallowed twice.  “Sorry.”

            Hatano sighed and looked away.  “Don’t be sorry.  Just don’t do it again.”

            Miyoshi closed his eyes.  Then he mumbled something that Yuuki couldn’t hear.  And apparently neither could Hatano.

            “What?  I didn’t catch that.  Miyoshi?”

            Miyoshi coughed and tried again.  “I’m . . . home.”

            “Yeah.  You’re home.  And just wait until you find out all that you’ve missed,” said Hatano, actually looking eager now.

            But Miyoshi’s eyes were closed.  And since he didn’t respond, it was very possible that he’d fallen back to sleep and missed what Hatano said.  In fact, it was almost positive that was the case, because he didn’t even twitch at Hatano’s next comment.

            “I know a certain lieutenant who is going to be very happy that he can stop babysitting Amari’s daughter, even if that means he has to babysit you now instead.”

 

* * *

 

 

Notes: Happy Thanksgiving!


	3. Chapter 3

            There had been times that Sakuma had likened his job of watching over the spies as babysitting.  He’d thought it accurate at the time.  The men of D-Agency were always plotting something or getting up to some trouble.  Many a time, there had been silent wars waged: poker, pranks, random childish competitions.  It felt like Sakuma was stepping in and curtailing something that he thought would end badly, or was too disgraceful every week.  But what he hadn’t really taken into account was that the men of D-Agency were just that.  Men.  Even Hatano and Jitsui, though those two looked like children.  They were more than capable of getting themselves out of any trouble they got themselves into.  Any of them could hold their own against the others when it came to matching wits.  Despite how it sometimes seemed, they were all rational and quick thinking, and all possessed a good deal of common sense.

            And as Sakuma found out when they were all gone, actually babysitting a child was far, far worse than watching over the men of D-Agency and occasionally intervening.  And Sakuma had miscalculated.  Oh, how he had miscalculated.

            The spies made it look easy, taking care of a child.  Emma always seemed to be the perfect little angel around them.  Amari, her surrogate father, usually only needed to make a suggestion and Emma was quick to obey, happily, enthusiastically, as if it were her idea all along.  Tazaki could keep her entertained for hours with his magic tricks.  Kaminaga always made her laugh.  Fukumoto was a favorite with Frate (because he snuck the dog extra food) so Emma liked him too.  And after Amari, Hatano was her favorite.  Probably because he was always cooking her sweet treats and Western style dinners.  Jitsui and Odagiri, she had never really gotten to know, though she had been polite enough to them in the short amount of time she’d known them.  Sakuma had only had limited interactions with Emma himself, but had not thought watching her would be more than a slight inconvenience.

            But oh how wrong he had been.

            It seemed like as soon as the door had shut behind the spies everything started to go wrong.  Emma, already awake because Amari had not wanted to leave without letting her know what was happening and giving her a kiss goodbye, started crying and did not stop for an hour.  Sakuma had never had to deal with a crying child before.  There had been that time that Jitsui had . . . no, it did no one any good to dwell on that, and it wasn’t relevant to the current problem.  Sakuma had never had to deal with a real child, who was genuinely crying before.  So he’d tried to imitate what he’d seen Amari do, on the rare occasions that Emma had cried before.  But when he went to pick her up, she bit him.

            It had only gone downhill from there. 

            The next morning, Emma didn’t want leftover rice and fish for breakfast.  She hated Japanese breakfasts, she declared.  She wanted scrambled eggs and toast.  They only had a little bit of bread left.  And Sakuma . . . accidentally burned it while trying to toast it in a frying pan, the way he’d seen Fukumoto and Hatano do in the past.  And the eggs . . . he thought he did alright with those at least, but Emma took one bite and spit it out.

            The day had not been fun either.  Instead of an endless stream of spies to amuse her and occupy her time, there was only Sakuma.  And Frate.  But neither was an adequate replacement for any of the spies when it came to Emma’s lessons.

            Sakuma had to shake his head when he looked at all the . . . stuff they were teaching her.  Emma had picked up Japanese fairly quickly out of necessity, but Amari had made up whole lesson plans for her, to keep her on track for learning English.  Unfortunately Sakuma couldn’t read those plans, anymore than he could read the French, German, or Russian ones that were “supposed” to be simpler.  He knew a bit of Chinese, however, but when he brought up teaching that to Emma, she got mad.  She said that her Papa had vetoed teaching her Chinese for a few years because he wanted her to learn the Japanese meanings of all kanji first and not get them confused.

            Lunch was yet another disaster.  And the less said of that, the better.  For dinner, Sakuma broke down and took her to a restaurant that had Western food.  Then before bedtime . . . was bath time.  And Emma didn’t want to take one anymore than Sakuma wanted to give her one.  But . . . the idea of the other spies coming home to a smelly child . . . he would never hear the end of it.  But he really, really, was not comfortable, at all, with the idea of being in the presence of a naked little girl, so . . .

            “Papa doesn’t make me wear a bathing suit in the bath!”

            So that.  And no sooner had that problem been sorted, with Emma finally agreeing to wear it, did he run into yet another problem.

            “Noooo!  You unfolded the washcloth that Uncle Tazaki folded into a pigeon for meeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

            After that, there was much sulking, splashing, and soap foam flying everywhere.  When he was finished giving Emma her bath, Sakuma needed to get a mop to clean up all the water.  But that came after he finally, finally, finally got to put Emma to bed.  Which came after reading her a bedtime story.  Which went about like everything else that day had gone.  Apparently it had been Kaminaga’s turn to read her a bedtime story that night, and he was the best at it, changing his voice and acting out each character as they said dialogue, and making a whole spectacle of it.  Yet another thing Sakuma failed at.

            And the next day, it began all over again.

            Once, Sakuma had assumed he would have children.  If he lived long enough.  It was his duty to his family to provide an heir, and his duty to his country to sire more soldiers to fight for their empire’s glory.  But now . . . now he thought that he would rather . . . not.

            He thought he would get better at this whole babysitting thing.  He didn’t.  Every day seemed harder than the last.  He couldn’t get Emma to eat anything that he hadn’t bought from a restaurant or premade in the market, or get her to go to bed on time because she insisted on proper stories.  He couldn’t even get her hair brushed because she screamed and insisted he was pulling too hard, and by now her hair was snarled and knotted, and she wouldn’t even let Sakuma near her with a brush or comb. 

            Sakuma had never thought he would be happy to see Hatano, when late in the evening, D-Agency’s youngest (or at least shortest) spy, entered the cafeteria soundlessly.  Sakuma was there, nursing a whiskey and smoking a cigarette.  Wishing that one of the spies, any of them, would return and save him from his babysitting hell, when –

            “Sakuma-san?”

            Sakuma jumped and twisted to find Hatano standing just inside the doorway.  Not right behind him, as he usually did, sneaking up on him just to prove that he could.  The smug expression was missing from Hatano’s face as well.  So even though Sakuma was glad to see him for a change, and without that superior smirk of his, he knew at just a glance that something was wrong.

            He tried to use the training they’d given him, and looked Hatano over for clues.  Maybe it was his imagination or the light, but he thought Hatano’s complexion was paler than the last time he’d seen him.  His eyes were a little different too.  Wider than usual, but more strained around the edges.  His hair was straight and neat, but beneath his coat, his clothes were wrinkled, unkempt, like he’d been wearing the same ones for several days . . . and was that a smudge of blood on his sleeve?

            “Sakuma-san?” asked Hatano again, making Sakuma realize that his inspection had gone on a bit too long, and he’d progressed to just staring.

            “Hatano,” said Sakuma, feeling genuine joy over the small spy’s return, despite whatever was about to be sprung on him.  “Welcome home.  Is . . . is everything alright?”

            “It will be,” said Hatano.  “But I need your help with something, please.”

            Sakuma stood.  “Are we going –”

            “Outside.  Just to the car.  And not for long at all, you won’t need your coat.”

            Sakuma put back on his suit jacket and straightened his tie.  Then took note of Hatano’s impatient look and quickly followed the spy into the hallway.

            “What are we doing?”

            “Carrying a stretcher inside.  Yuuki-san is back too, but . . .” Hatano shrugged.

            Sakuma caught his point.  Carrying a stretcher was easiest with two people who both had two hands.  Yuuki’s prosthetic was not good for grasping, nor could it support much weight.  Meaning that there was probably someone on this stretcher.

            “The others?” Sakuma asked, concerned.  “The ones who left with you?  Are they all okay?”

            “Our mission was successful.  The ones who left with me were all well, last I saw them.  I can’t tell you more.  Not right now.”

            Ah, yes.  Clearance.  The spies sometimes told Sakuma about their missions, but only after being debriefed by Lt. Colonel Yuuki, and being told just how much they were allowed to share about their missions.  But if all the others were well the last time Hatano saw them, then who was on the stretcher?  Could it be Yuuki himself?  Hatano never exactly said . . . yes, Sakuma thought he had it figured out now.  Until he passed Lt. Colonel Yuuki in the hallway, limping along with his cane, in disguise as he always was.  So if not Yuuki, then who?

            Hatano led Sakuma around to the back, where a truck with a covered bed was parked.  A board had been propped up as a makeshift ramp.  And inside the dark interior, Sakuma could just make out a human form on a stretcher, obscured though it was by a mound of heavy blankets.  He followed Hatano up the ramp, peering at the person under the blankets, squinting against the dim light until he could make out the features.  And when he did, he felt his heart leap into his throat.

            “Mi-Miyoshi?”

            He expected Miyoshi’s strange red-brown eyes to open.  And his mouth to curl into a once familiar smirk, that Sakuma could still see in his mind if he tried hard enough to remember.  But instead . . . nothing.  Miyoshi remained as still as a doll.  And just as lifeless.

            “Yeah,” said Hatano.  “It’s him.  He’s asleep.  Or passed out.  Let’s go with asleep.  Come on, Lieutenant.  Help me get him inside where it’s warm . . . er.”

            As a rule, D-Agency was kept cold in the winter, at nights.  Yuuki saw no reason to spring for heat when they had blankets and clothes to keep them warm, and some of the spies had hinted that there were other reasons for using less power at night.  Sakuma had a feeling that tonight, an exception would be made to that rule.

            Sakuma quickly grabbed the handles at the foot of the stretcher.  Hatano took the ones at Miyoshi’s head.  They lifted together, and got Miyoshi down the ramp, then inside the door that Hatano had left open.  As they entered, a black shadow detached itself from the night and slinked inside.  Yoru.  Sakuma had counted it as a blessing that the cat had stayed away while the spies were gone, since he didn’t get along well with Frate.  But now that some of them were home, so was Yoru. 

            “Hey, boy,” said Hatano, looking genuinely happy to see his cat.  “Look who I brought home for you.”

            Sakuma shook his head.  But didn’t comment.  Instead he picked up the pace a little, forcing Hatano to move faster as well.  The infirmary was on the ground floor.  Close by the back door, actually.  And right on the other side of the lounge with the fireplace.  Sakuma smiled internally.  It was not the first time he’d realized just how much thought had gone into the layout of D-Agency. 

            When they got Miyoshi into the infirmary, it was already warmer than it should have been.  Yuuki must have added to the fire in the lounge.  And turned on the electric heat, by the sounds of the furnace and the pipes.  Sakuma helped Hatano get Miyoshi off the stretcher and onto a bed.  Then watched in shock as Hatano would have left without another word.

            “Hey!  Where are you going?”

            “Hm?  To get a shower,” said Hatano, as though it should be obvious.

            “What – you, you’re just going to leave him here?” demanded Sakuma.

            “He’s stable,” said Hatano.  “And Yuuki-san will probably come check on him before I get back.  You can stay if you’re worried.”

            “He’s hurt.  Unconscious.  And you would have left him unattended while you saw to your own comfort?”  Sakuma had known the spies were selfish, but this . . .

            “I haven’t showered in over half a week, Lieutenant,” said Hatano coldly.  “Miyoshi hasn’t been bathed in longer than that.  When I finish washing myself, I will give him a sponge bath.  But that won’t do him any damn good at all if I’m unclean, and contaminating his skin the moment I clean it.”

            “Oh,” said Sakuma softly.

            “Yes.  Oh,” Hatano’s stare and voice were both frigid.  He looked like he would have liked to fire off several insults, but instead only shook his head and left without another word.

            “Shit,” muttered Sakuma, realizing how badly he had misjudged the situation.  And just when he thought he was getting better at thinking things through.  Now that he actually did put some thought into it . . . he realized that whatever had happened, Hatano had probably been the one primarily caring for Miyoshi.  If the others weren’t here now . . . and Yuuki, with one hand, couldn’t perform many medical tasks . . . so the weight of it had fallen onto Hatano’s small shoulders.  And Sakuma had just accused him of being negligent and selfish.

            He sat down next to Miyoshi, and then it occurred to him to wonder if he should even be in here.  But no, he should be alright.  He’d gotten drenched while bathing Emma, and so he’d just gone ahead and showered after he got her into bed.  He should be fine.

            But what had happened to Miyoshi?  Miyoshi had been D-Agency’s best and brightest.  But now he looked like death warmed over.  Had he messed up somehow?  Horribly?  Sakuma remembered what Hatano had been like when he came back from his mission.  But according to Yuuki, that hadn’t been Hatano’s fault, and what had happened was more because of unfortunate circumstances.  Could Miyoshi have run into similar bad luck?  Thinking about it, it would probably be best to assume that until he was specifically told otherwise.  He remembered what Miyoshi’s ego was like. 

            He waited in the infirmary for Hatano to return.  Because he didn’t want to leave Miyoshi alone, even though he would have almost certainly been alright, if Hatano had been willing to leave him.  Or maybe Hatano had been banking on Sakuma staying with him, without being asked.  But as he’d predicted, Yuuki did stop by to check on Miyoshi.

            “Hatano went to shower,” Sakuma told the Lt. Colonel.  “Then he’s going to wash Miyoshi.”  Then Sakuma realized that Yuuki probably already knew this.  In his defense, he realized it before the “Are you stupid?” look that Yuuki sent his way. 

            “Yes,” was all Yuuki said though.  Like what Sakuma just said had been obvious.  Then he went to Miyoshi and peeled the blankets back.  Sakuma winced at the sight of what was beneath.  Miyoshi was bare, at least to the waist.  But bandages were wrapped around his chest.  A wound there . . . a wound there was bad, Sakuma knew.  He found himself unable to look away, as Yuuki removed the bandages.  And he felt sick when he saw what was beneath them.  The large gash that the bandages had been covering looked like it was on the mend, but its size, and where it was positioned were both really bad, Sakuma knew.

            “It was a puncture wound,” Yuuki said suddenly.  “Miyoshi was in a train accident.”

            “T-Train accident?”

            “Yes.  But that does not leave this room.”

            “I understand, sir.  If you’ll permit me to ask, do the other spies know?”

            “Yes,” said Yuuki.  “But Muto does not need to.  Neither does anyone else in the General Staff Offices.”

            Sakuma was able to piece that together well enough, or at least he thought he did.  The others weren’t back yet.  Which meant they were on their way home.  Probably in another country, since there had been no news of a train wreck in Japan.  They were getting out of whatever country the train wreck had occurred in.  But train wrecks weren’t common.  The wrong word spoken to the wrong person, and it could get back to that country’s own intelligence force.  If the D-Agency spies weren’t out of that country by then, they would be hunted down.

            “The puncture wound was deep enough to be dangerous.  Shallow enough that it wasn’t instantly fatal.  Miyoshi survived by playing the part of a corpse for the better part of a week.  He played the part well.  They buried him, none the wiser.  The others waited until night, then retrieved him.”

            Buried him.  _They buried him._   A soft roar filled Sakuma’s ears.  Miyoshi had been shut in a coffin and put in the earth.  He’d come that close to death.  What had Yuuki been thinking, letting him play a charade like that?  If something had gone wrong . . . if any little thing had gone wrong . . . But Sakuma knew better than to call Yuuki out on it.  No matter how much he wanted to.  He knew that he would only look more the fool after Yuuki finished dressing him down for daring to speak without having even a modicum of the facts.  And . . . and this was Miyoshi.  If this was a plan that Miyoshi had set into motion, then he must have thought it was safe . . . or else . . . or else it was the only option.  Yes.  Sakuma closed his eyes as he saw it now.  Miyoshi probably was in a better state now, after constant medical attention from Hatano and Yuuki, than he had been right after the train.  He couldn’t have fled the scene under his own volition, couldn’t go into hiding and await an extraction, or make his way back to Japan on his own.  He must have only had one way out.  And now Sakuma was very glad that he hadn’t spoken out of anger.

            “The wound was infected when we got to him.  Hatano had to remove a fair amount of infected skin, and cauterize the wound.  That is why it looks so large,” Yuuki said, as he laid a clean towel over Miyoshi’s wound, then covered his torso with the blankets again.  Then Yuuki peeled the blankets away from the lower half of Miyoshi’s body, revealing that he was still clothed from the waist down.  Yuuki set to work fixing that, preparing him for Hatano to clean, Sakuma realized.  He stood and came over to help, at least with getting Miyoshi’s shoes off.

            He wondered, for a moment, why they had left Miyoshi’s shoes on.  Since people were generally more comfortable without shoes.  But when he peeled off Miyoshi’s socks, he was able to answer the question for himself.  Miyoshi had on a double layer of socks.  The outer ones about two sizes smaller than the inner ones.  Hatano’s socks, if Sakuma wasn’t mistaken.  Hatano must have put them on Miyoshi to keep his extremities warmer.  And the shoes would have helped with insulation as well.

            He left Miyoshi’s belt, trousers, and underwear to Lt. Colonel Yuuki.  Even though it was a task that was actually, technically beneath the Lt. Colonel.  Any other officer would have delegated the task to Sakuma.  But Yuuki didn’t even look at Sakuma, and Sakuma didn’t feel right insisting on taking the task from him.  Partially because he didn’t want to be insubordinate.  But also partly because . . . because the idea of undressing Miyoshi . . . it made him feel . . . uncomfortable.  Like he’d be doing something wrong.  Even though there was no reason for him to think that, he’d only be undressing him because he couldn’t undress himself, and his clothes needed to come off so he could be cleaned but . . .

            Thankfully, Hatano arrived at that moment, saving Sakuma from his own musings.  His shower had been a very quick one.  Which meant that it couldn’t have been comfortable.  The water took awhile to heat up once you turned it on.  Several minutes on a night as cold as this one.  Hatano could only have been under the water several minutes.  Though he had clearly gotten himself clean.  The scent of soap clung to him strongly, meaning he’d probably used a lot.  Which was good.  The cleaner he was, the less chance there was of spreading harmful bacteria to Miyoshi. 

            But Sakuma had made a mistake.  When Yuuki had finished removing Miyoshi’s clothes, Sakuma had picked them up, and started folding them.  Even though they were destined for the laundry.  He still had them in his hands when Hatano entered the room, and Hatano smirked, and raised an eyebrow at them.

            “Taking advantage of Miyoshi while he’s unconscious, Lieutenant?  Tsk, tsk.”

            “I’m not!  I didn’t – I wouldn’t!”

            Hatano smirked smugly, then grabbed a basin and took it to the sink.  He started the water running, but didn’t put the basin under it yet.  Waiting for the water to get warm, Sakuma knew.  As he waited, Hatano gathered some other necessities: washcloths, towels, soap.  Clean blankets, for when he was done.  Then he went back to the sink and held a hand under the faucet.  Shook his head and withdrew his hand, not satisfied with the temperature.  He waited another minute then checked again.  Then he held the basin beneath the stream, after tossing the bar of soap into it.

            “I can take things from here, Yuuki-san,” said Hatano, growing serious again.  “And Sakuma-san.”

            Yuuki nodded, accepting this and turned to leave, but paused in the doorway to give a final order.  “Straight to bed after you finish here.  And dry your hair better.”

            “Yes, sir,” answered Hatano, whose hair was still very wet, and had only been dried enough to keep it from dripping.  The basin had filled up, so Hatano turned off the water and brought it to the table beside Miyoshi.  He dunked several washcloths in at once, then wrung each one out over the basin, except the last one.  He wrung that out over Miyoshi’s forehead.

            “Mmmrmnn,” Miyoshi groaned, twitching a bit.

            “Don’t torment him,” Sakuma said sharply.

            “I’m not,” snapped Hatano.  The gentle touches he used to wipe the water across Miyoshi’s face were at odds with the harsh tone of his voice. 

            “Ha . . . tano?” Miyoshi spoke suddenly.  His voice sounded strained and rusty.

            “Hey, Miyoshi.  Welcome back.”

            “Unmmm . . . we . . . we’re . . . at D . . .  we’re home?” Miyoshi asked.

            “Yep.  Home at D-Agency.  You’re in the infirmary.  How do you feel?” Hatano asked, as he continued to wipe Miyoshi down, pressing the cloth against the sides of his face, then moving it down to his neck and under his chin.

            “Tired.”  Miyoshi closed his eyes again.  “The others?”

            “No word yet, but there wouldn’t be.  We just got home not even ten minutes ago.  It will take the others longer.”

            Miyoshi fell silent.  Possibly back to sleep.  Sakuma shifted awkwardly, looking around for something to distract himself, or possibly something that could give him an excuse to excuse himself.  He should have left when Yuuki left . . .  Hatano ignored him, continuing to work.  From the glances that Sakuma stole at him, Hatano was being surprisingly gentle and thorough.  Carefully wiping down Miyoshi’s skin with the wet wash clothes, then going back and patting him dry with a towel.  He finished washing Miyoshi’s face, neck, and the upper part of his chest, then moved to his arms before finishing the rest of his chest.  And once Miyoshi’s arms were finished, Hatano decided it was time to change the water.

            “Hatano?” asked Miyoshi, as Hatano stepped away.  And when he spoke this time, he sounded much more aware and alert.

            “Yeah?”

            “Why Yuuki-san?”

            “Huh?”

            “Why was Yuuki-san with me?  Why not Fukumoto or Amari?”

            “I dunno.  Yuuki-san didn’t give me his reasons.  Maybe there’s something he has to be back in the country for coming up?” said Hatano.  “Why do you ask?”

            “Because it makes no sense,” said Miyoshi.  “I was . . . probably the biggest liability in the short history of D-Agency.  Most spymasters . . . most spymasters would have cut me loose.  At the very least, he should have gotten out of Germany –”

            “Miyoshi –”

            “-in some other way, that didn’t involve being around me,” Miyoshi spoke over Hatano.  “Anyone caught in my presence would have been screwed.  He shouldn’t have taken that risk.”

            “Miyoshi.  We can’t talk about the mission anymore.  Not right now,” said Hatano.  “Sakuma-san is standing awkwardly over in the corner, practicing his voyeurism.”

            “What?” Miyoshi’s eyes flew open again. 

            “Yeah,” Hatano said.  “Say hello, Sakuma-san.”

            Sakuma grimaced.  But now that he’d been called out, he couldn’t just stay silent.  “Miyoshi . . . welcome home.”

            “Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Miyoshi.  “Or have you been promoted?”

            “No,” said Sakuma.  “I’m still a lieutenant.”  Siding with D-Agency against Muto had not done Sakuma’s career any favors.  But he’d do it again.

            “I apologize for my . . . lack of decorum,” Miyoshi said dryly.  “I’m afraid you caught me at a bad time.”

            “No need to apologize,” said Sakuma hastily.  “I guess I should apologize.  For not speaking up sooner.  But I wasn’t sure if you were awake or not, and then you were talking to Hatano.”

            “Yes, yes, you’re both sorry,” said Hatano, coming back with a fresh basin of water.  “I need to clean your chest now, Miyoshi.  Then your back.  Then we’ll get a shirt on you.”

            “If . . . if you don’t need help, I’ll take my leave,” said Sakuma.  “I don’t want to be in the way.”

            “Good night, then, Sakuma-san,” said Miyoshi politely.

            But Hatano spoke up too.  “Actually, Sakuma-san, I could use your help.  Help me get Miyoshi seated in an upright position?  Extra hands will make this easier.”

            “Oh.  Yes.  Alright.”  Sakuma came over and hovered as Hatano removed the blankets, folding them back to Miyoshi’s waist.  Then he set aside the clean towel that Yuuki-san had covered Miyoshi’s wounds with, to keep them from coming in contact with the blanket. 

            “Take his shoulder,” instructed Hatano.  “And put your hand in the small of his back on that side.  I need to keep a hand over his wound, so it doesn’t stretch.  Ready?  Lift.”

            Together they elevated Miyoshi so that he was seated upright.  Sakuma noticed Miyoshi’s elegant face twisting into an expression of pain, but no sound escaped his lips.

            “There.  Keep him propped up, please,” said Hatano.  “How badly did that hurt, Miyoshi?”

            “Badly enough,” Miyoshi said.  “It feels . . . tight.  I could feel the wound pulling.”

            “Yes.  Best not to move around anymore than you have to,” said Hatano.  “You . . . I had to . . . cauterize the wound.  After removing some infected tissue.  There wasn’t enough skin left for stitches to be effective.  So if you pull it open, it’ll be bad.  I’ll have to cauterize it again, over a wider area, so yeah.  We don’t want it to pull open.”

            “Agreed,” said Miyoshi.  Then, “How bad will it scar?”

            “Uh . . .  sorry.”

            Miyoshi grimaced.  “Well, if it’s a scar or my life . . .”

            Hatano was silent.  He went back to work.

            “I know you did your best,” said Miyoshi after a few moments.  “You don’t need to sulk.”

            “I’m not.”

            “Of course you’re not.”

            Sakuma only saw Miyoshi’s fingers brush against Hatano’s wrist because he’d happened to be looking in the direction as he tried not to look at anything in particular.  He swallowed and looked away, as a feeling he couldn’t put a name to welled up inside him.  The spies really knew each other well.  It was kind of funny.  They didn’t know each other’s real names, or histories, but they knew each other in ways most people would never know another person.  Sakuma wondered if there would ever be someone he had a bond like that with.

            Hatano finished cleaning Miyoshi’s chest, and toweling him off, then moved to his back.  Sakuma shifted to the side so Hatano could get behind Miyoshi properly.

            “Are you still feeling alright?” he asked Miyoshi, feeling awkward, and wanting to break the silence.

            “Hm?  I don’t recall ever saying that I felt alright,” said Miyoshi, sounding amused.

            “Er . . . well do you feel alright?” asked Sakuma.

            “I’m not in too much pain as long as I don’t move.  Nor do I feel feverish.  So I suppose my current condition is adequate.  Right now . . . I’m more concerned about whether or not you’re alright?”

            “What?” asked Sakuma.

            Miyoshi smirked, and finished, “Hatano?”

            “ . . . Huh?” Hatano asked after a conspicuous pause.

            “Are you alright?  Something about you seems off,” said Miyoshi. 

            “No.  I’m fine.  I’m just tired,” said Hatano.  Maybe it was Sakuma’s imagination, now that he was looking for signs of something being wrong, but it sounded to him a little bit like Hatano was slurring his words together.  And by now Sakuma knew what that was a sign of.

            “You’re slurring your words,” Miyoshi said, confirming what Sakuma had just thought.  “Your eyes aren’t focusing right.  And your movements aren’t nearly as precise as usual.  And you’re lacking your usual grace.”

            “You talk too much,” Hatano muttered, and continued working, unfazed.  He finished washing Miyoshi’s back and started toweling it off.

            “He’ll be fine,” Sakuma tried to assure Miyoshi.  But at his words, Miyoshi looked anything but convinced.

            And then, as if to prove Sakuma wrong, Hatano’s knees buckled.

            “Hatano!” Miyoshi reached out to grab him but wasn’t fast enough.  And Sakuma might have been able to grab him before he hit the floor, but that would have meant letting go of Miyoshi, and Miyoshi possibly falling over, and pulling open his wound.  He ended up having to hold Miyoshi in place, as Miyoshi actually tried to get up and go to his fellow spy.

            “Dammit,” Sakuma growled.  “Miyoshi, it’s –”

            “Yuuki-san!” Miyoshi called urgently and loudly, ignoring Sakuma.  “Yuuki-san, come quickly!”

            “Dammit,” Sakuma said again.  Somewhere in the back of his mind was a nagging that Miyoshi would do more than just summon Yuuki.  But he couldn’t quite think what the reason was.  So he put it aside momentarily.  “Miyoshi, I’m going to lay you back down.  Just . . . relax or . . . do whatever you need to so that you don’t put strain on your wound.”

            “What’s wrong with him?” demanded Miyoshi, ignoring Sakuma’s request.  “Hatano?”

            “’m fine,” Hatano slurred from the floor.  He had landed on his knees, hands braced on the floor to keep from face planting.  And his head hung down, exhaustedly.  He made no move to get up.  He probably couldn’t, Sakuma knew.

            “It’s just brain damage,” Sakuma tried to explain to Miyoshi.

            _“What?”_

            “Er . . . I mean –”

            “Yuuki-san!” Miyoshi called again.

            “Ssstop screamin’,” Hatano requested.  “You’lllll wake Amari’ssss daughter.”

            That, to Miyoshi, must have sounded like brain damage induced babbling, because the look that crossed his face wasn’t shocked, but sickened.  And as Sakuma realized why Miyoshi’s shouting had put him on edge, long after the brain damaged spy had, he wanted to shake his head.  Even sinking into brain damaged induced exhaustion, Hatano was still sharper than him.  It didn’t seem fair.

            “Miyoshi?  What’s wrong?”  Yuuki must have come at a run.  He entered without his usual limp, his cane nowhere in sight.  Then he saw Hatano on the floor and sighed.  “Hatano.”

            “Sssorrrry,” Hatano slurred.  It looked like he might have tried to lift his head and look up at Yuuki, but failed.

            Yuuki knelt down beside Hatano and lifted him carefully, settling Hatano in his arms so that his spy’s head came to rest against his chest.  Then he quickly carried him to the bed next to Miyoshi’s and laid him down on it.  “Sleep.”

            “Yesssssir.”

            “Yuuki-san?” asked Miyoshi softly, calming now that he saw that Yuuki was not overly concerned.

            “A lingering side effect from his own mission’s mishaps,” said Yuuki.  “You may ask him more about it tomorrow.”

            “Yes sir.”

            Yuuki looked at the basin of water, the cloths, and then at Miyoshi’s unbandaged wounds.  “Did Hatano clean your chest and back?”

            “Yes,” Miyoshi confirmed.

            Then Yuuki looked at Sakuma.  And Sakuma felt his heart start hammering in his chest like a taiko drum.  Was Yuuki going to order Sakuma to finish giving Miyoshi a sponge bath?  When all that was left of him to clean was . . . was . . . was below the waist?  Involuntarily, Sakuma felt a shiver run through him.  A shiver which he knew both the spy and the spymaster, and hell, probably even Hatano, even though his eyes were closed, had all seen.

            But Yuuki gave no such order.  Instead he ordered Sakuma, “Keep Miyoshi upright while I bandage his wound.  Then I will need your help laying him back down.”

            Relief and disappointment flooded Sakuma in equal measures.  “Yes sir,” he said quickly, and involuntarily tightened his grip on Miyoshi’s shoulders.

 

* * *

 

 

Sakuma torture, Hatano whumpage, hurt Miyoshi, fatherly Yuuki . . . everyone wins!

 

I hope you enjoyed this nice long chapter. :)  I unexpectedly got today off and split my time between writing (yay!) and Christmas cookie baking lessons (also yay!)

 

Don’t forget that the deadline for signing up for the next Joker Game fanzine is coming up on December 20.  So if you have any interest in contributing, you can check out the details and sign up at this link: <http://i-dedicate-this-kill-to-the-fans.tumblr.com/post/167112059534/double-agent-2-a-joker-game-fanzine>

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

            Miyoshi didn’t sleep well his first night back at D-Agency.  Most likely because he had been asleep, unconscious, or pretending to be dead for . . . probably about a week now.  Overall, that had been good for his body.  He’d needed to recover.  But there comes a point after all that when you finally just wake up.  And stay awake for awhile, because while your body may still be healing, your mind rebels and wants to be awake.  And that’s what Miyoshi had hit.

            Even lying bored in the infirmary it was good to be home.  So good.  For awhile, Miyoshi had thought he’d never be back here.  Now that he was, he was just so happy.  Even with nothing to do or entertain himself, trapped in bed because he couldn’t sit up unaided without risking reopening his wound, it still just felt like a really, really good day.  Or night. 

            He glanced over at the bed next to his own, now and then, where Hatano was sleeping.  Peacefully, judging by the pattern of his breathing.  And underneath a pile of blankets, having been carefully tucked in by Yuuki-san himself.  Miyoshi had found their interactions interesting.  He’d noticed how gently Yuuki-san had lifted Hatano off the floor, practically cradling him in his arms.  It wasn’t really unexpected that Yuuki had tended to Hatano himself, with Sakuma being the only other abled bodied person in the room, and him already attending to Miyoshi.  But unless Miyoshi had completely missed his mark, there was a bit more to it than that.  He’d noticed how, after tucking Hatano in, Yuuki had rested a hand on Hatano’s hair, brushing it back from his face, before giving Miyoshi a few final directives, and departing.

            Miyoshi frowned at his younger companion, and wondered just what was wrong with him.  Certainly nothing too horrible if Yuuki had brought him to Germany.  But seeing how Hatano had so suddenly collapsed, Miyoshi couldn’t help but wonder about the wisdom of bringing him all the same.

            But he was glad that Hatano was here now.  He would have been glad for any of the others to be here, but Hatano was in his top two or three companions of choice.  His cheeky personality offered endless amusement and his take no prisoners attitude when it came to verbal sparring kept even Miyoshi on his toes.

            As he waited, Miyoshi wondered how all the others were faring.  How many of them were still in Germany?  It took two or three days of air travel to get from Germany to Japan.  That was enough time for at least a few of them to get out of the country, Miyoshi thought.  Hopefully more.  He was sure they’d covered their tracks perfectly, but he still couldn’t help but worry.  Their opponent was the man who’d once captured Yuuki-san, and he had only recently scented blood in the water.  There was nothing Miyoshi could do to help them.  His worry was useless, and he knew it.  But he couldn’t make it go away.  If anything happened to whoever else Yuuki had brought along to save him . . . that would weigh heavily on Miyoshi’s conscience.  He wondered how many spies Yuuki had actually brought along.  Kaminaga and Amari had been the ones to dig him out of his grave.  Jitsui had driven him to the safe house, where Yuuki-san had been waiting.  And Hatano had been there too, of course.  Maybe that was everyone?  Hopefully that was everyone.  The fewer people at risk, the better.  As it was . . . Miyoshi didn’t quite understand why Yuuki-san had risked so many of them for his sake.

            So he lay awake brooding until morning.  Which he only knew from the clock on the wall.  The blackout curtains were a new addition to the agency, but not a surprising one.  It was in the early morning hours that the door to the infirmary creaked open.  Miyoshi looked that way, eagerly, anxious for someone to alleviate his boredom.  But at first he was confused, because it seemed like no one was there.  But he heard soft footsteps.  Then a moment later, the top of a head, previously blocked from his view by tables and beds, came into Miyoshi’s field of vision.

            A child? he thought, and wondered if he was hallucinating.  Because the top of that head suggested a red headed child.

            “Hatano-nii?” whispered a child’s voice.  “Are you awake?”

            “He’s not,” Miyoshi informed the mystery child.  And he saw the top of the child’s head jump before disappearing.  Then the sound of both hands and knees on the floor reached his ears, and he couldn’t help smirking.  Hiding under the bed?  Really?  Who was this child?

            He waited.  And then, soon after, curiosity got the better of the child.  It was not long before she came out of hiding to see who had spoken.  And Miyoshi found himself face to face with a red headed little girl, who was clearly of Western origin.

            “Who are you?” she asked, staring up at him with big blue eyes.

            “Good manners dictate that you introduce yourself first,” Miyoshi told her.  “Then wait for the other party to introduce him or herself.”

            She stared at him for a moment, then complied.  Partly.  “I’m Emma.  Who’re you?”

            Close enough.  Miyoshi decided to humor her.  “I’m Miyoshi.”

            “Miyoshi?” Emma crept a few steps forward to get a better look at him.

            “Have you heard of me?” Miyoshi asked.

            “Yeeeees,” Emma said slowly, drawing out the word uncertainly.  “But . . . Papa and the others all say you’re working far away?”

            “My work overseas is done,” said Miyoshi.  “For now, at least.  I got hurt.  So Yuuki-san had me come home.”

            “Oh.  I’m sorry you got hurt.”  Emma crept forward a few more steps.  Then she looked up at Hatano, looking sheepish.  “And I wasn’t gonna wake Hatano-nii up.  I wasn’t.  I know better than to wake him up when he’s sick from his head hurting.”

            A little bit of last night’s . . .  nonsensical talking was starting to make sense now.  Somewhat.  Miyoshi now had enough information to determine that Hatano had suffered some sort of head injury.  Possibly even brain damage, as Sakuma had suggested.  But for Yuuki to let him out of the house, let alone let him go to Germany, meant that it couldn’t be too severe.  Possibly, his episodes were even predictable.  And when Hatano had made that comment about waking up Amari’s daughter, Miyoshi hadn’t been watching him deteriorate, as he’d initially feared.  Out of all the men of D-Agency, the most likely to pick up and bring home a stray child was definitely Amari. 

            “I know you weren’t going to wake him up, when he’s sick from his head hurting,” said Miyoshi sternly, deciding to see if he could get a bit more information out of this child.  “Because what happens when we wake up Hatano when he’s sick from his head hurting?”

            “Yuuki-san will get really, really mad,” said Emma.  “And I can’t play with my dolly as much.”

            “And?” Miyoshi pressed.

            “And . . . I had to sit in a corner once, for a really long time.”

            “But what happens to Hatano-nii?” asked Miyoshi.

            “He . . . he doesn’t really wake up?” Emma sounded uncertain.  “He stays sick from his head hurting longer . . . and he has to go to bed early for awhile, because Yuuki-san says so.”

            “And anything else?” prompted Miyoshi.

            “I . . . I don’t know anything else.  Is there something else?” asked Emma.

            “Well, I imagine it makes Jitsui very cranky,” said Miyoshi.  Oh, he could only imagine Jitsui’s reaction to someone waking his precious Hatano up from much needed recovery sleep.  Jitsui had always been fiercely protective of Hatano.  Miyoshi could hardly forget the time he’d broken another man’s leg for trying to attack Hatano during training.

            “Oh.  I . . . I don’t know Jitsui very well,” said Emma.  “But Hatano-nii likes him a lot.  And I think I like him a lot too.  Jitsui’s really pretty.”

            Miyoshi smirked.  And did nothing to discourage Emma as she climbed onto Hatano’s bed and sat down on the edge of it, her back pressing against Hatano’s side as he lay there sleeping.  Miyoshi wondered just how much he could learn about what had been happening at D-Agency just by talking to Emma?  She had pretty much just told him that Jitsui wasn’t around much, or hadn’t been until recently.  But big brother Hatano had been in residence for a good while, it seemed.  So just who else was around?

            . . .  It turned out . . . everyone.  Papa Amari had brought Emma home with him after a boat trip, and Emma hadn’t seen Mommy since.  But she was kept so busy, she hardly had time to miss her.  Uncle Fukumoto was nice but made a lot of untasty food.  But she still had to eat his food sometimes.  Big brother Hatano was really nice and made really good food, and sometimes let her help, which was fun.  Her favorite things to make with him were cookies and bread.  Jitsui had come home awhile ago, for Emma to meet the first time, after helping save a nice old man from some bad men, who were going to hurt him.  He had done so good, that Yuuki-san took them all out for ice cream, and they played the stranger game, where some of them pretended to know each other, and others pretended they were strangers.  But right after Jitsui got home, he left for a couple days, and took Hatano with him, and didn’t come back, even though there was lots of snow to play in.  Then, Yuuki-san sent Uncle Tazaki to go bring them home, but right after that, Jitsui and Tazaki both left, but at least they left Hatano back in D-Agency, so he could play with and cook for Emma.  Then when Jitsui and Uncle Tazaki came home, they brought another Uncle with them.  Uncle Odagiri.  And Uncle Kaminaga was around a lot too.  Almost all the time.  He worked a lot with Yuuki-san, and always had lots of papers, but he made time for Emma too.  He was the best at reading stories and did lots of funny voices.  All in all, Emma was very happy with her papa, her uncles, her grandfather, and her big brother. 

            “I knew Hatano-nii was back because Yoru was back,” said Emma happily, when Miyoshi asked how she’d come to be looking in the infirmary.  “He likes Hatano-nii best.  And he was back this morning, and happy.  But Hatano-nii wasn’t upstairs in his or Jitsui’s bed.  So I came down here because sometimes, when they don’t feel good, they sleep here.  And . . . I know I’m not supposed to come down here without Papa or one of my uncles watching me, but I wanted to see if he really was home.  I’m tired of Sakuma-san being the only one here.”

            Miyoshi had noticed how frazzled Sakuma had looked the previous evening.  He had wondered what cause the lieutenant had to look so strained.  The stress around his eyes had been rival to Hatano’s, and Hatano had just spent several days in the cramped, cold cargo hold of a plane, keeping Miyoshi alive.  But apparently Sakuma had undergone trials of his own, and had not been as well adapted to handle them.

            Their conversation was interrupted by Hatano waking up.  Or by him announcing that he was awake.  If he hadn’t been distracted and talking to Emma, Miyoshi probably would have noticed when Hatano’s breathing moved to its waking pattern.  But now he only realized Hatano was awake when Hatano laughed softly and said, “But even though you were tired of Sakuma-san being the only one here, I know you were a good girl for him.  Weren’t you?”

            Emma hesitated.  Then lied.  “Yes!  Yes, I was a good girl.”

            Hatano laughed again and sat up.  His movements were smooth and fluid, Miyoshi was relieved to note.  His usual catlike grace was back.

            “Good morning, Miyoshi.  And sorry . . . I must have given you a start last night.”

            “No apology necessary,” said Miyoshi.  He knew just how much Hatano had risked coming to save him.  “But I have to say, I’m surprised Yuuki-san lets you travel if you have a condition like that.”

            “Ah, but there are conditions to the condition,” said Hatano.  “And we’ve mostly figured those out, which is why Yuuki-san let me travel.”

            Hm, that explained quite a bit.  Miyoshi nodded.  And watched, with amusement, and another feeling he couldn’t quite place as Hatano leaned down to kiss the top of Emma’s head before sliding off his bed.

            “How are you feeling?” asked Hatano.

            “Decent.  Not in too much pain.”

            “Do you think you could eat?” Hatano asked. 

            “I think so.  I can at least try.”  Miyoshi could barely remember the last time he’d eaten.  He didn’t know if it was a good sign or bad sign that he wasn’t hungry.

            “You’ve been living on fruit, juice, and water since we found you,” Hatano informed him.  “I can make you some okayu?  Or would you rather start with broth?”

            “Okayu, please,” Miyoshi requested. 

            “Right.  Come, Emma.”  Hatano held his arms open and Emma leapt into them, and wrapped her arms and legs around Hatano to hold on.  “Let’s stop making it too easy for Miyoshi to figure out everything he’s missed.  Can’t have him getting too smug, too fast.”

            “I don’t want to hear that from you,” Miyoshi commented.

            Hatano smirked, and walked to the infirmary door, carrying the toddler easily, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.  And perhaps he had.  Miyoshi had missed out on quite a lot.

            He closed his eyes as he was left alone, and smiled ironically.  He was finally feeling tired again.  And of course it had to happen right after he finally had the chance for some good company. 

            But he could stay awake a bit longer.  Now that he was thinking about food, the idea of eating wasn’t unappealing.  Okayu actually sounded very good.  Even though it would take Hatano awhile to make.  And wouldn’t Hatano be annoyed if he came back after cooking it for Miyoshi, only to find Miyoshi asleep?

            One more hour, Miyoshi told himself.  He knew that if his body and mind were telling him it was time to sleep again, then he should listen.  But one more hour wouldn’t hurt.  And he did need to try to eat.

            Miyoshi smiled and stared up at the ceiling.  Damn, it was good to be home.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Hatano found a freshly steamed pot of rice on the stove when he and Emma entered the kitchen.  He helped himself to it, knowing whoever had made it wouldn’t mind.  It had to have been either Yuuki-san or Sakuma.  And since they had made so much, they had to have intended to share.  He spooned a generous scoop of rice into a smaller pot, and added water, then set it on another stove burner.  Maybe it was cheating a little, but starting to make okayu with already cooked rice would make it go much faster.  And Miyoshi had looked tired and ready to go back to sleep.  So in this case, faster was better.

            “What would you like for breakfast, Emma?” Hatano asked the little girl, who had gone to climb up and sit in a counter chair when he set her down. 

            “French toast!” Emma said, smiling brightly.  “With honey and jam!”

            “Then French toast you shall have.”  Hatano set about preparing her breakfast while the okayu was cooking.  He was glad Emma had picked something he could make easily and quickly.  They always had bread on hand these days, since Emma liked it so much, and since Hatano knew how to make it.  And eggs were always on hand too, thanks to Fukumoto fostering connections with some chicken and duck owners.  Other things were getting harder and harder to come by, thanks to the war.  But Hatano was confident that D-Agency would manage to keep their pantry stocked, if not well, then at least adequately.  Emma would not be pleased if shortages got worse, but she would survive.  For now, Hatano could give her what she wanted, and he was happy to do so. 

            He quickly scrambled two eggs together in a small bowl.  Then he poured half the mixture over a piping hot bowl of rice, for himself.  Then he sliced a piece of bread and put it in the bowl with the rest of the beaten egg, letting the bread sop the egg up.  He started heating the frying pan with a bit of oil in it, while the bread was soaking.  And also stirred the okayu and snatched a few bites of rice and egg as he multitasked.  When the frying pan was heated, in went the bread.  A little bit of the beaten egg hadn’t been soaked up by the bread, though.  Hatano considered pouring it over his own rice, but then shrugged and stirred it into the okayu instead.  Miyoshi could use the nourishment, and it would give the okayu a bit more volume, while still being easy on the stomach.

            Emma’s breakfast finished frying up fast enough.  As soon as it was done, Hatano flipped it onto a plate and brought it over to her.  Emma stared up at him with big eyes, until he got the jam from the refrigerator and the honey from the pantry.

            “Not too much,” Hatano warned her, though he let her help herself.  “Jam is getting much harder to get.  After this jar is gone, we might not be able to find any for awhile.”

            Emma nodded solemnly and put a reasonable amount on top of her toast.  Then she looked at Hatano again before helping herself to the honey, using that a little more generously since Hatano didn’t warn her about it.  Which was fine.  Hatano had stocked up on honey from his black market connections. 

            “I’m going to take Miyoshi his breakfast now,” said Hatano.  “Will you be fine here?”

            “Mmhmm!” Emma answered, managing to answer him and not speak with her mouth full.

            “Good girl.  I’m going to have to help Miyoshi eat.  So after you finish, why don’t you play with Frate for awhile, alright?”

            “Mmhmm,” Emma said again.

            Hatano smiled as he poured Miyoshi’s okayu into a bowl, got a spoon for it, and snatched up the rest of his breakfast, and took that to the infirmary as well.  He half expected Miyoshi to be asleep by the time he returned, but Miyoshi surprised him.  But at least Miyoshi seemed surprised to see him back so soon too, so Hatano considered the score even.

            “That was fast,” Miyoshi commented as Hatano set their food down on a side table.

            “Someone had already made a pot of rice.  Probably Yuuki-san.”  Making breakfast for everyone wasn’t the sort of thing Sakuma would think to do.  The lieutenant was considerate yes, but not particularly domestic.  He wouldn’t think to make a pot of rice for the household.  While Yuuki-san often did small things to aid his students.

            “Probably,” agreed Miyoshi. 

            Hatano helped Miyoshi sit up, propping him against the bed’s headboard.  He tucked a napkin in the front of Miyoshi’s shirt, just in case his first attempt at feeding someone else didn’t go as smoothly as he wanted it to, then sat down on Miyoshi’s bed with the trey containing both their breakfasts in his lap.

            Miyoshi tried to reach for the bow of okayu.  “I can –”

            “No, you can’t,” said Hatano quickly.  “Think, Miyoshi.  You shouldn’t be lifting your arms anymore than you have to right now.”

            “Ah . . . yes,” said Miyoshi grudgingly.  The skin on his stomach and chest would be affected by him lifting his arms.  Depending on the movements, it could pull.  Possibly hard enough to reopen Miyoshi’s wound.

            Hatano scooped a spoonful of the rice porridge from the bowl and held it out to Miyoshi.  Miyoshi opened his mouth obligingly, letting Hatano feed him.  “Fukumoto’s is probably better,” said Hatano.  “I think mine is missing the key ingredient of love.”

            Miyoshi swallowed the spoonful of okayu and gave a smirk.  “I don’t know.  I think you could give him a run for his money.  Did you suddenly grow a heart while I was gone, Hatano?”

            “Hm, well they do say Paris is the city of love.  Or lights.  Or something.  I learned to cook better there, but it was French cuisine I learned to cook.  Not Japanese,” said Hatano.  He fed Miyoshi another spoonful, then scooped up some egg-coated rice with chopsticks in his other hand and stuffed his own face with that.  Because he was hungry too.

            “Surely culinary skills transfer across different cuisines?” said Miyoshi, after swallowing that bite.

            “Some do,” Hatano admitted.  “But my year of cooking rustic French food isn’t going to magically put me in the same level as Fukumoto’s lifetime of cooking Japanese food.  But I guess okayu isn’t exactly complex.  Kind of like fried eggs or steamed rice.  So maybe I’m not too far behind him on this dish.”

            “It’s good,” Miyoshi affirmed.  “And much appreciated.”

            “Well, you’re welcome.  You’d be doing the same for me if I was hurt,” Hatano said.  “Yuuki-san would order you to.”

            “Mm, I don’t know about that,” teased Miyoshi.  “A cheeky little brat like you?  I’d think Yuuki-san would be glad to be rid of you.”

            “He had the chance to smother me in my sleep on the way back from France,” said Hatano with a smirk and a shrug.  “He didn’t take it.  I think I’ve grown on him.”

            “What, like a fungus?”

            “Probably.”  Hatano smiled self depreciatingly.  But then his expression turned more serious.  “You know, we are so damn lucky.”

            “What?” Miyoshi asked.

            “For Yuuki-san,” said Hatano.  “He really . . . really takes care of his own.  We’re lucky he considers us his own.”

            “Yes,” Miyoshi agreed.  “We are lucky.”

            The rest of breakfast was a bit more solemn.  Miyoshi ate the okayu dutifully, and Hatano fed him without teasing him about being an invalid, like Miyoshi had probably been expecting of him.  Not that Hatano could really do that, in his current condition.  Or after what he’d been through recently.  He’d been a liability too long, himself.  This kind of felt like a way to pay back some of what he owed Yuuki-san, and D-Agency as a whole.

            After they were finished eating, Hatano put their dishes aside, then removed Miyoshi’s bandages so he could check his wound again.

            “Still no signs of further infection,” said Hatano, relieved.  There was a part of him that had been terrified all during the trip, that he hadn’t cleaned the wound well enough and that it would turn septic.  If that happened, there would have been no saving Miyoshi.  He and Yuuki would have returned home with a corpse, and all the risks they took, and the favors Yuuki called in, they would all be for nothing.  Hatano was still a little scared that there might be something inside the wound, some pocket of infection forming around a scrap of that wrapper he’d missed, or a splinter of rusty metal, embedded in the wound.  But the more time that went by without any signs of something like that showing, the less likely that was. 

            “Can you get me a mirror?” asked Miyoshi.  “I’d like to see.”

            Hatano complied.  There were several mirrors in the infirmary.  They were there in case one of the spies had to do work on themselves and needed to use a mirror so they could actually see.  Hatano grabbed one and brought it over, holding it at the right angle so that Miyoshi could see his wound.

            Miyoshi stared at the reflection, his face blank.

            “There was a good bit of necrotic flesh,” said Hatano.  “I had to cut it away.  I tried not to burn any more than I had to, though.  Just enough to keep it sealed.”

            “It’s about how I thought it would be,” said Miyoshi finally.  And he didn’t seem mad.  Which was good.  Miyoshi could be spiteful when he was mad.

            When Miyoshi seemed finished, Hatano put the mirror aside and filled a basin with water.  Miyoshi made no comment as Hatano redid his task from last night, giving Miyoshi another sponge bath, and starting over from the beginning.  He was probably grateful to get his face washed again, vain man that he was.  And his wounded area being cleaned again was a matter of common sense.  And this time Hatano finished the job, cleaning Miyoshi below the waist as well, but being as quick and professional about it as possible. 

            “Let’s move you to another bed,” said Hatano once he was done and had rebandaged Miyoshi’s chest.  “So you’ll have clean sheets.”

            “I don’t think sleeping in them one night without being washed will have contaminated them too badly,” said Miyoshi.

            “Humor me,” said Hatano. 

            Miyoshi gave a slight shrug then winced, as the movement pulled the skin across his chest tighter.

            “Shrug a few more times,” Hatano advised him, mockingly.  “Get it out of your system.”

            “Is that your official suggestion as my doctor?  How very professional,” said Miyoshi dryly.  But he did not resist when Hatano lifted him out of bed, and carried him the few feet to the closest bed that neither of them had slept in last night.

            “Are you warm enough with just blankets?” asked Hatano, once Miyoshi was laying down again.  “Do you want clothes?”

            “I’m fine like this for now,” said Miyoshi.  “Clothes will just be a hassle if you’re planning to wash me again.”

            “It’s necessary,” said Hatano, frowning.  “To cut down on contamination and infection risks.  Yuuki-san might let me carry you up to the showers tomorrow, if you’re still doing well, but I kind of doubt it.”

            “So do I, unfortunately,” said Miyoshi.  “I would very much like to wash my hair.  But I feel like that is why he would veto me getting a shower.”

            “Maybe if we have you sit in the lounge for a bit afterwards, near the fire, until your hair dries,” Hatano suggested.  “I think I’ll let you negotiate the terms with Yuuki-san.”

            Miyoshi yawned and closed his eyes.  “And I think I won’t worry about that right now.  I need sleep.”

            “Of course.” Hatano got another blanket from the cupboard and draped it over Miyoshi.  Then he gathered up their breakfast dishes and padded silently out of the infirmary.  He would strip the beds that he and Miyoshi had slept in last night of their sheets later, when Miyoshi was awake.

            Emma was no longer in the kitchen when Hatano returned.  But amusingly, Sakuma was.

            “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

            “Hatano,” Sakuma responded.  “How is Miyoshi?  Have you seen him this morning?”

            “He’s sleeping now,” said Hatano.  “But he ate breakfast.  And I gave him another sponge bath, since you felt it beneath you to finish what I couldn’t last night.”

            Sakuma spluttered, just as Hatano knew he would.  “That’s not – I – I – I didn’t – Lt. Colonel Yuuki told me just to help lay him down.  He didn’t – didn’t order me to finish.”

            “And you didn’t take the initiative.”  Hatano managed to keep a straight face as he looked at Sakuma disappointedly.  “No need to explain yourself, Lieutenant.  I see how it is.”

            “No, no, that’s now how it is,” protested Sakuma. 

            “Mmhmm.”  Hatano set his and Miyoshi’s breakfast dishes in the sink.  Then he retrieved Emma’s and put them there too.

            “Hatano, that’s not how it was,” Sakuma was still trying to convince him.

            “If you say so, Sakuma-san.  Please excuse me.  I must report to Yuuki-san on Miyoshi’s condition now.”

            Hatano left before his smirk could spread across his face where Sakuma could see it.  Behind him, he heard Sakuma start working on washing his breakfast dishes.  Just according to Hatano’s plan. 

            Yuuki-san was in his office, as Hatano knew he would be.  Three empty mugs of coffee were on his desk.  A fourth was in his hands as Hatano entered.

            “Miyoshi ate breakfast,” Hatano reported.  “A full bowl of okayu, with a little egg mixed in.  I gave him a full sponge bath and moved him to a clean bed.  He’s sleeping again now.  No signs of his wound turning septic, or fever, or any other complications.”

            “Continue administering antibiotics regularly,” Yuuki instructed.  “And check on him every hour to see if he’s awakened.  Or if he requires anything, if he has already been awake.”

            “Yes sir.  Any other instructions?” Hatano asked.

            “Tend to Emma.  Her hair is a mess, and I’m sure her lessons have all fallen to the wayside under Sakuma’s care.”

            “But is there anything I can do to help you, Yuuki-san?” asked Hatano.  He looked meaningfully at the papers on Yuuki’s desk.  Whatever they were, they were clearly the reason why Yuuki had worked through the night rather than sleeping.  Sometimes there were minor administrative tasks that Yuuki was able to entrust to him.  But it seemed that was not the case now, because Yuuki shook his head.

            “Remain on call for Miyoshi and keep Emma from running amok.  Those are your tasks for today.  You are dismissed.”

            Hatano nodded, then gathered up the empty coffee mugs on his way out.  When he got back down to the kitchen, he was pleased to see all the breakfast dishes had been done.  He quickly set more water to boiling, set up his coffee press, and then washed out Yuuki-san’s mugs.  Emma, he knew, would be fine a few more minutes without him.  So he made coffee first, poured a mug for himself, then took the rest up to Yuuki’s office, and was rewarded with a smile from Yuuki-san.

            Then he hunted down Emma.  She would not be happy about how it would hurt when he brushed those knots out of her hair.  But she would tolerate it because it was him, and because when he was finished, they would be making cinnamon rolls.  It seemed like a good day for those.

 

* * *

 

Notes: Happy holidays!  Have some brotherly bonding between Miyoshi and Hatano. And Miyoshi sneakily getting information from Emma. :)

 


	5. Chapter 5

            Miyoshi slept fitfully.  The kind of sleep that people who have slept too much recently have.  Where their body is demanding it, but their mind rebels and wants to stay awake.  If he was up in D-Agency’s dorms, it might have been different, he knew.  The ambience and sense of home and belonging might have put his mind more at ease than D-Agency’s clinic.  But the clinic was warmer, and had been easier to get him to than the dormitory.

            As he failed to sleep, he remembered snatches from the past few days.  Snatches that he didn’t even realize he remembered until now.  Like how Jitsui and Yuuki together had carried him from the car into the safehouse, after Kaminaga and Amari had dug him out of his grave.  And the sweet but cold trickle of liquids down his throat, that must have been the fruit juices that Hatano had fed him to keep him alive.  He also remembered alternating spells of being cold and being warm.  And the small body that was nestled up against his own, whenever he regained semi-consciousness and was warm.  The sting of antibiotic shots in his arm.  The constant rattling of the plane around them.

            They weren’t exactly good memories, but Miyoshi was glad to have them all the same.  They made him feel . . . humbled.  Something a vain man like him didn’t feel often.  But knowing what so many men who he respected so much had done for him when he was helpless and useless . . . he couldn’t help but feel something about that. 

            Hatano had been right.  He was so lucky to have Yuuki-san as his spymaster.  Any other spymaster would probably have cut him loose.  Maybe even killed him in the hospital while he was pretending to be a corpse.  As a mercy, or out of necessity.  Miyoshi didn’t know why it only occurred to him to think about how that had been a possibility now.  Yuuki-san had taught them to be wary, and think the worst of every single person.  Theoretically, Yuuki himself should have been included in that number.  But it had never entered his thoughts, even for a moment, that Yuuki wouldn’t try to help him.  Miyoshi wondered if Yuuki would be disappointed in him, if he knew that.  Or pleased by the trust his spies had in him.  Probably a mixture of both, Miyoshi thought.

            Of course, Yuuki wasn’t the only one Miyoshi was lucky for.  The other spies.  His friends.  He’d allowed himself to feel so sentimental about them when he was on the verge of death.  He’d even admitted to himself that they were his peers, his equals . . . his brothers.  They understood him in a way his own family hadn’t . . . and were willing to fight to protect him, as his own family hadn’t.

            He was so damn lucky. 

            Hatano checked on him every forty minutes exactly.  He was very quiet, but Miyoshi, like all the spies, was hair-triggered to be woken by soft sounds, aberrant vibrations, and the like.  Even though it pulled him out of out of sleep every time, Miyoshi found Hatano’s hovering both touching and cute.  He smirked internally, and wondered how Hatano would react to being called out on hovering.  Not that Miyoshi planned to do that.  He had seen from the strain around Hatano’s eyes that this mission had taken quite a toll on the younger spy.  It couldn’t have been easy treating him on a plane, and nestling up against him to share body heat, not knowing if when he woke up, he would be holding Miyoshi’s living body or cooling corpse.  Hatano had taken good care of Miyoshi.  Miyoshi wouldn’t be so crude as to mock him for his emotions now. 

            Around noon, when Hatano came to check on him again, Miyoshi abandoned his attempts at sleeping.  Truthfully, he felt like what sleep he had managed to get had been enough.  His fatigue had subsided.

            “Hatano?” Miyoshi asked, when the infirmary door, one of the few doors in the agency that didn’t squeak, opened.

            “Miyoshi.  Are you alright?” Hatano asked.

            “Yes.  But I wonder if I could have something else to eat?” Miyoshi asked. 

            “Sure,” said Hatano instantly, sounding pleased.  “More okayu?”

            “Actually,” said Miyoshi.  “I was hoping I could try some rice.”

            “Sure,” Hatano said again.  He came into the room and helped Miyoshi sit up, so that when he brought the food, Miyoshi could actually eat it.  Then before leaving, he wrapped a warm blanket around Miyoshi’s shoulders, carefully making sure one edge was folded over the other edge in the front, to keep Miyoshi warm.  “I’ll be right back.”

            He was gone a little bit longer than simply fetching a bowl of rice should have taken.  But when he returned, Miyoshi quickly realized why.  On the tray that Hatano brought back, was not just a bowl of rice and glass of water, but also a small dish of scrambled eggs, a bowl of miso soup, and a cup of hot tea.

            “I brought a little more than you asked for,” Hatano said as he sat the trey down.  “It’s alright if you don’t eat it all.  I just thought if you wanted it, you could have it.”

            “Thank you,” said Miyoshi.  “It looks good.”  The truth was, that now that he saw all that food, it did look good.  Aside from that morning’s okayu, it had been so long since he’d had Japanese food. 

            “It’s no tamagoyaki with grated radish, but we can’t all be perfect,” said Hatano cheekily, as he sat down on the bed beside Miyoshi.

            Miyoshi gave him a dry look.  Then tried to reach for the spoon, hoping Hatano would be too distracted to notice.  He wasn’t.

            “Nah ah,” said Hatano, lightly slapping Miyoshi’s hand away.  “No feeding yourself today.  Because no lifting your hands above your chest.  Not until I’m sure your wound won’t reopen.”

            Miyoshi sighed.

            “And no sighing.  It’s bad for your chest.”

            “You just made that up,” Miyoshi said.

            “Yes,” Hatano admitted shamelessly.  “What would you like to start with?  Rice?  Soup?  Egg?”

            “Tea,” Miyoshi said, just to be mildly obstinate.  But Hatano complied, lifting the cup to Miyoshi’s mouth, and tilting it very carefully so that Miyoshi could sip it.  It was Hatano’s favorite blend, Miyoshi realized, at one taste.  Zhenghe Gongfu tea.  A tea that Miyoshi appreciated as well.  He’d helped himself to Hatano’s stash on more than one occasion in the past.

            “It’s kind of a tradition for the spies in residence to do a few things for those of us who come back from long missions,” said Hatano, when Miyoshi finished drinking, and he set the cup back down.  “Freshly laundered sheets are one of those things.  Fukumoto cooks your favorite foods if he’s around.  And we try to grab a fresh tin of your favorite tea.  But we didn’t really have enough notice to run out and grab a tin of masala chai for you.  Not sure if it’s even still in the markets actually.  Though I have a contact who may be able to get me some.  I’ll check next time I see him.  Until then, enjoy my preference.  I know it probably tastes better when you steal it, but until you can steal it from me for yourself, you’ll just have to endure me making it for you.”

            Miyoshi gave a slight laugh.  “If I must.”

            “What next?  Rice?  Egg?”

            “Both,” said Miyoshi.

            Hatano smiled and dutifully scooped up a spoonful of rice, then moved it to the dish of scrambled egg and scooped a bit of that up too.  He fed it to Miyoshi, and began talking again as Miyoshi chewed.

            “You and I are the only ones who were abroad for a long time, in non-Asian countries.”

            Miyoshi raised an eyebrow.

            “What?  Oh, Kaminaga?  No, he didn’t stay in England for long,” explained Hatano.  “But that’s his story to tell.  But my point is, I’m the only other one here who knows what it’s like to be completely cut off from pure steamed rice, and soy sauce.  Cut off from everything made of soy, actually.  Cut off from all the foods of home.”

            “Yes,” said Miyoshi, after swallowing his first bite, somewhat regretfully.  The rice had been leftover from that morning’s breakfast pot, so it was cool.  But the eggs were warm and flavored lightly with soy sauce.  It had been months since he’d had soy sauce.  It wasn’t available in Germany, anywhere he’d looked.  He had made a brief trip back to Japan over the summer, but that had been in secret, so he hadn’t been able to bring a supply back to Germany with him.  If anyone had seen it, it would have been suspicious.  And white rice had been available, but it just wasn’t the same outside of Asia.  He opened his mouth for another bite.  Hatano quickly complied.

            “I was in France.  The food there was good.  Great, actually.  But there’s nothing like food from home,” said Hatano.  He filled the spoon again.  By the time he raised it, Miyoshi was ready for another bite.

            Hatano continued talking while Miyoshi ate.  Thankfully not really expecting responses, but filling the silence, and filling Miyoshi in on a number of things that had been happening around Japan and D-Agency.  Things he was allowed to discuss.  Miyoshi knew there must be a lot that he wasn’t allowed to talk about.  But the things he was most interested in, Hatano was willing and able to supply information about.  Like how Kaminaga had been in residence at the Agency a lot lately, doing a lot of administrative work for Yuuki-san.  And exactly how they had ended up with a little girl, who was clearly not Japanese, living in a house full of Japanese spies.  It seemed like no time had passed at all before Miyoshi’s lunch tray was empty.

            “Did you want to stay sitting up?” asked Hatano.  “Or lay back down and rest some more?”

            “Stay sitting up,” said Miyoshi.  He’d had his fill of rest.  “Can you stay?”

            “Yes.  Emma had an early lunch.  She’s with Yuuki-san in his office right now.  Drawing.  Soon it will be time for her nap.  Sakuma-san should be able to put her to sleep.”  Hatano smirked.  “It seems like she gave him hell this past week.  I think the Lieutenant is rethinking his life plans of getting married and siring spawn to carry on his family name.”

            Miyoshi huffed a soft laugh.  He should be so lucky.  He doubted that a week of child care was all it would take to make Sakuma swear off his patriotic duty of siring more soldiers for the Japanese Empire.  Especially since care of any children he sired would fall to the woman Sakuma had them with.  Miyoshi could dream . . . but he was all too aware that even if Sakuma opted not to have children, the lieutenant probably would either choose a life of celibacy, or find a woman who either did not want children or could not bear them.  Finding his pleasure with a man would be sinking far too deep into debauchery for Sakuma.  Not that Miyoshi thought that even if Sakuma did go that route, that there was likely a future where the two of them were anything more than colleagues.  Even after Sakuma had begun to open his eyes to the idiocy of their military and the usefulness of an intelligence agency, there had still been days when he made Miyoshi want to strangle him.  Their personalities were just too much at odds with each other’s. 

            He contemplated this, as Hatano disappeared for a few minutes with another promise to be right back.  It would have been so much easier for Miyoshi if he’d found himself with this lingering, annoying attachment if it had been for one of the other spies.  Like Hatano for instance.  He could still remember that small, warm body, nestled against his, during the long, cold trip home.  And Hatano was adorable.  A bit young for Miyoshi’s tastes, and a bit slight, but still a very fine specimen.  His personality might be a bit caustic and abrasive, but those did nothing to diminish that brilliant spark that burned in all the men of D-Agency.  But Miyoshi couldn’t feel anything for Hatano beyond . . . beyond brotherly affection.  Miyoshi would admit it now to himself.  After what he’d just been through, and what Hatano had done for him, Miyoshi couldn’t help but feel like he was family.  He felt more like family than Miyoshi’s real family.  And had gone further for him than one of Miyoshi’s real brothers would have.

            That feeling was only reinforced when Hatano bounded back into the infirmary with an armful of goodies to help stave off boredom.  A shogi board.  A deck of Western playing cards.  Another deck of Hanafuda cards.  A newspaper and a stack of books. 

            “We can’t let your brain rot while you’re recovering,” said Hatano, as he spilled his armful onto Miyoshi’s bed.  “Do any of these seem appealing?”

            “Shogi,” said Miyoshi immediately.  “It has been a long time since I’ve played.”

            So Hatano started setting up the board, on the edge of the bed.  But before he could finish they received an interruption.  One that was not entirely unwelcome, but not exactly welcome either.

            “Hatano?  Help.”  Sakuma stumbled into the infirmary looking frantic and harried.

            “What’s wrong, Lieutenant?  Does Emma not want to take a nap if it’s you telling her to?” asked Hatano.

            “No.  Er, I mean . . . there is . . . it’s . . . Emma . . . had an accident,” said Sakuma, his face completely red.

            There was no way Hatano hadn’t taken Sakuma’s meaning.  But he plastered an innocuous look on his face as he continued setting up the shogi board.  “What kind of accident?  Did she skin her knees again?”

            “No,” said Sakuma.  “She . . . she . . .”

            “She wrote on the walls again?” asked Hatano.

            “She wet herself,” said Sakuma, face completely red.

            “Kids piss themselves sometimes,” said Hatano.  “What are you coming to me about it for?”

            “I don’t . . . you’re so good with her . . . and she hates me.  Would you please . . . clean her up?” Sakuma asked.  “Please?  Lt. Colonel Yuuki did ask me to, but . . . but I don’t . . .”

            Wow.  The lieutenant really was not comfortable with children at all.  Miyoshi hadn’t realized just how bad it was.  But for Sakuma to be trying to circumvent an order given to him by his direct superior, and trying to foist the task off on Hatano, it really was bad.

            “If Lt. Colonel Yuuki asked you to do a task, don’t you think you should see to it yourself?” asked Hatano, overly solemn.  And referring to Yuuki-san formally, which he never did without a good reason.

            “I know I should,” Sakuma groaned.  “But you’re just so much better with her.  Please, Hatano.  I’ll . . . I’ll owe you a favor.  Several favors.”

            “Well, I suppose,” said Hatano.  He stood.  “I’ll clean up Emma.  You stay here with Miyoshi.  And that is not one of my favors.  That is you taking over my much more necessary duties, while I pick up the slack for you.”

            “Thank you,” breathed Sakuma.  His relief was almost palpable.  Hatano gave Miyoshi a sly wink before ambling out the door.  And Miyoshi knew that he wouldn’t be seeing Hatano again soon. 

            “Does child care not suit you, Lieutenant?” asked Miyoshi as the infirmary door closed behind Hatano.  

            “Er, no.  Not at all,” said Sakuma.  He shifted from foot to foot, still looking uncomfortable, even though he’d just managed to pawn the unwanted task off onto Hatano.  Then Miyoshi realized.  Sakuma was now worried about the task he’d been given as a replacement.  Namely, spending time with Miyoshi.  “Er . . . so you’re playing shogi?”

            “Hatano and I were going to,” Miyoshi answered.  “Do you play, Sakuma-san?”

            “Er . . . no,” admitted Sakuma.  “Sorry.”

            Miyoshi stared at the half set up board for a moment, before venturing, “Would you like to learn?”

            “What?  Er, I don’t – I mean, I don’t think I would be very good at it,” said Sakuma.  And Miyoshi had just had time to feel the bitter brush of rejection when Sakuma said, “But I wouldn’t mind learning.  If . . . if you don’t mind teaching.”

            That made Miyoshi smile.  “I am about to have a lot of time on my hands, and very little to fill it with.  I would be happy to teach you.  But . . . not today.  I’m not allowed to lift my hands very much, you see.  Hatano would have been moving my pieces for me when I told him to.  But that might be a little much to add to you when you’re just learning.”

            A surprised look crossed Sakuma’s face.  “I would have expected you to heap as much on me as you could.”

            “Make no mistake,” Miyoshi told him.  “I have no intentions of taking it easy on you or letting you win.  But how well you learn the game will be testament to how good of a teacher I am.  It wouldn’t do me any credit if you failed to pick up the basics because you were confused by too many additional steps and tasks.”

            “Still, that’s surprisingly decent of you,” said Sakuma.  “I know how you lot like to learn things.  Remember, I supervised your training.”

            “Ah, our training.”  That made a bit more sense now.  Sakuma was mistaking the merciless series of tests that they had called training with actual learning strategies.  “Our training wasn’t just learning.  It was meant to test us.  To weed out the unsuitable candidates,” said Miyoshi. 

            “Oh.  Yes . . . I suppose that makes sense,” said Sakuma.  “Though that seems a bit brutal.”

            “Better the unworthy fail miserably in training than on a mission,” said Miyoshi.

            “True,” said Sakuma, unable to deny or question that simple fact.  “Well . . . if we’re not playing shogi, would you like a book to read until Hatano comes back?  Or the newspaper?  Do you need me to hold it for you, or turn the pages?”

            “That won’t be necessary,” said Miyoshi.  “I can hold a book in my lap, and don’t need to lift my hands above my chest to turn the pages.  But Hatano shouldn’t be too long, I don’t think.  I don’t exactly have personal experience with this, but I don’t imagine it takes too long to clean up a child’s accident.” 

            “No, but Hatano may put her down for her nap,” said Sakuma.  “That sometimes takes a little while.  Emma asks a lot of questions.  And sometimes wants stories.  From you people.  Not from me.  She doesn’t really want much to do with me.”

            “I’m surprised she wants anything to do with Hatano,” said Miyoshi.

            “I was surprised at first too,” Sakuma said.  “But she loves Hatano.  More than anyone but Amari, I think.  I expected them to not get along at all because Hatano’s such a brat.  Er – I mean . . . Hatano . . . Hatano . . .”

            “Can be petty and childish?” supplied Miyoshi.  “Takes joy in taunting and psychologically sabotaging others?  Is cheeky and insubordinate, and extremely caustic?”  He didn’t feel bad saying all this, despite what Hatano had done for him so recently.  It was all true.  Hatano would admit to it with a smirk on his face if asked.  And Miyoshi would have no problem saying this to his face.  In a friendly, teasing manner, of course, which would make it no less true.

            “Yes,” said Sakuma, looking wary at this admission.  “But he surprised me.  I think he genuinely likes Emma.”

            Based on their interactions that Miyoshi had seen so far, he concurred.  But said nothing at this time.

            “They just sort of hit it off.  Emma was kind of scared of all the others spies except him to start with,” said Sakuma.

            “The rule of ages,” Miyoshi stated.

            “What?”

            “It’s a psychology thing,” Miyoshi explained.  “People are most often naturally drawn to others of their own age, when put in a random group.  Children especially.  Hatano was the youngest one in the agency after Emma.  So to her, he was the most appealing, and seemingly the safest.”

            “I guess . . .”  Sakuma shifted from foot to foot.

            “Why don’t you sit down, Sakuma-san?” asked Miyoshi.  “If you think Hatano is going to be awhile, there’s no point in standing until he comes back.”

            And yes, Hatano would definitely not be back for awhile.  Despite what Miyoshi had said earlier, he’d known all along that Hatano would probably not be in any hurry to return.  He and all the other spies knew about Miyoshi’s absurd little crush on Sakuma.  Sometimes they were a bit obnoxious about it.  Other times they tried to be helpful.  But most often what they did was both.  Knowing Hatano, the youngest spy would probably put Emma down for her nap and then find some other task to work on that would prevent him from immediately returning.  There was almost certainly a backlog of work that needed to be started on, and Hatano was diligent like that.  They would not be seeing him again for at least an hour.  Miyoshi had only feigned ignorance of this fact earlier because he would rather spend time talking with Sakuma than having Sakuma sitting by awkwardly while he read a book that wasn’t nearly as interesting as the man fidgeting beside him. 

            But since Sakuma-san was going to be here for awhile, Miyoshi thought he might as well be comfortable.


	6. Chapter 6

            After Hatano got Emma cleaned up and in bed for her nap he decided not to go back down and relieve Sakuma of his new babysitting duty.  Not that Miyoshi specifically needed to be monitored every hour of the day.  But Sakuma had nothing better to do, while Hatano did.  Plus Hatano figured Sakuma was better entertainment for Miyoshi than any of the games or reading materials he’d attempted to supply. 

            So instead, Hatano first went and got a shower.  A real shower.  Last night’s shower had been a minute spent standing in ice cold water, to get the surface grime off, two minutes spent shivering and scrubbing himself with soap, and then another half a minute spent standing in slightly less icy water to rinse the soap off.  This time, Hatano took his time.  It was day, so the starting temperature of the water was slightly warmer anyway, but he also let the water run for a minute to warm up a little more.

            Staying clean was important, since he was the primary one caring for Miyoshi now.  Cutting down all risks of contamination was Hatano’s top priority.  So taking another shower was necessary, but a necessity that Hatano enjoyed.  Standing in the warm water, breathing in steam, and getting a moment to relax for the first time since they’d gotten that phone call from Yuuki-san, ordering them to get on that plane to Germany.  It seemed like a lot longer than a week ago.  Jitsui and Tazaki had just gotten home, earlier that day, and had brought Odagiri home with them.  All three looked half frozen from their time in the Manchurian winter.  Jitsui went straight to the shower to wash off the grime he’d accumulated during travel, and once he was nice and clean, went to the dormitory, where Hatano had been at the time, still asleep until the door creaked open.  Jitsui had done that deliberately.  To make sure Hatano wasn’t sleeping off head injury induced exhaustion.  And Hatano had recognized his boyfriend’s footsteps and turned to give him a sleepy greeting.  Then Jitsui wasted no time getting under the covers with him, nestling as close as he could to leach off Hatano’s body heat, wrapping Hatano up in his arms, and giving him a kiss that had been so sweet that the mere memory of it made Hatano a bit dizzy.  Then stupid Kaminaga, who’d woken up too, and was taking his duties as Yuuki’s stand in seriously, ordered Jitsui back out of bed for a debriefing.  Hatano and Jitsui had planned to pick up where they left off that night, but Yuuki’s phone call had thrown a wrench in their plans.  Instead of cuddling up together in bed with their many nice warm blankets, they’d instead had to make do with sharing one blanket in the freezing cold cargo hold of that plane, clutching each other for heat, but still freezing all the same.  Hatano had barely been able to feel his hands most of that flight.  Jitsui, who hated the cold, had been worse.

            Hatano wondered where Jitsui was now.  He hoped his best friend was alright.  That all of them were alright.  But Jitsui was always first for him.  Hatano wanted to see him home safe as soon as possible.  But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to make that happen.

            There were things he could do for Miyoshi, though.  To keep Miyoshi alive and healthy.  So with that in mind, after he got out of the shower, Hatano decided to start on dinner.  It was a little early, but he had the feeling that Miyoshi would need an early dinner.  He’d noticed that Miyoshi hadn’t been sleeping as peacefully as he’d pretended to.  A small part of it may have been Hatano’s fault, checking on him so often, and probably waking him up.  But Hatano knew what it looked like when each of the D-Agency spies woke up briefly, upon hearing a noise, then fell back asleep after dismissing it as no threat.  That had not been what Miyoshi had been doing.  So Hatano suspected that Miyoshi would be crashing in a couple hours.  Hatano wanted another meal in him before he did so.  Miyoshi’s body would need the energy to mend itself, especially if any infection developed.  As more and more time went by without any signs of infection springing up, the closer to being home free they got.  By now Hatano, and Yuuki whose opinion counted for more, were both cautiously optimistic that Hatano had done a good enough job cleaning up Miyoshi’s wound, and cutting away all the infected tissue.  But in case of the slight chance that Hatano had missed something, or some other complication sprang up, the stronger Miyoshi was when it happened, the better his chances of surviving.  And that meant he needed to eat.

            Hatano decided on udon noodles in broth for dinner that night.  At least for him, Yuuki-san, Miyoshi, and Sakuma.  For Emma he’d boil some thinner noodles like ramen or somen, then toss them in a sauce made of fake cream (milk and rice flour) and vegetables.  That was one of his easiest go to recipes to keep her happy.  But for Miyoshi, Hatano had wanted something that was Japanese and tasted like home, and that would be easy on his stomach.  Boiling the udon noodles longer would make them easier to digest.  The broth would be fortified with strips of seaweed and thickened with eggs.  Those seemed to be his go to ingredient for almost every meal these days, Hatano mused ruefully, as he began taking the ingrediants he needed out of the refrigerator and pantry.  But with shortages of nearly everything else, there wasn’t much help for it.  D-Agency was lucky to have their connections.  Though their connections were probably lucky to have D-Agency as a patron too.  Fukumoto took Hatano along with him from time to time, since Hatano was stuck in residence and had started cooking for them all more, so Hatano had sort of inherited Fukumoto’s connections.  So he knew that D-Agency paid well above the market price for their eggs.  Their money ensured that their supply wouldn’t dry up.

            Hatano frowned, as he began chopping onions.  This war . . . was so damn stupid.  The more Hatano learned about it, the more that point was driven home.  It was amazing how well his fellow countrymen could keep their heads buried in the sand like ostriches.  Blatantly not watching as their country fell into a downward spiral all around them, while they still proudly proclaimed that this was for the betterment of their country.  He wondered how long it would take peoples’ hunger to overpower their patriotism?  Right now, there was still enough food, but only just.  People had to make do with less than they had before this war for the betterment of their empire began.  Meals and portions were consistently getting smaller and smaller.  If the decline of supplies continued at its current rate . . . in a few years the country was going to be very hungry.  Sooner if the wrong information about Japan’s supply lines was leaked.  A capable enemy with that kind of intel could do a lot to cripple a country, and that country’s military.  Some of the logistics work that Yuuki-san had been giving to Hatano to work on was identifying Japanese personnel who had that kind of knowledge.  And figuring out solutions to keep them from having the means or motive to ever spill that intel to an enemy agent. 

            After all the vegetables were chopped and the onions and seaweed were dumped into a pot of boiling water, and the milk was mixed with the rice flour (but kept off the stove because he would heat that later, closer to dinner) Hatano decided to make more tea.  It had been awhile since he’d seen Yuuki-san.  He hoped that his boss had taken a nap . . . but he doubted it.  The job of a spymaster was never ending.  Whenever Yuuki-san came back from a trip, he always seemed to work about three days straight.  At least this time, Hatano knew for a fact that Yuuki had slept on the plane.  Though that sleep had certainly been fitful, with the plane rattling around them constantly, and the constant, unrelenting cold.  Hatano . . . was a little worried about Yuuki right now.  All the spies knew that when you went from a very high stress environment straight into a very low stress environment, your immune system had a tendency to crash.  And being chilled also lowered the immune system.  Which meant that both Hatano and Yuuki were at risk for falling ill right now.  Hatano thought it best to try to ward it off in what ways he could.  So by making sure he and Yuuki-san both ate enough.  And by drinking tea, since there were definite health benefits to that.

            Yuuki-san was still in his office when Hatano went to him, with a tray.  Along with Hatano’s favorite Zhenghe Gongfu blend, Hatano also brought Yuuki-san two of the cinnamon rolls he and Emma had made that morning.  He was a little disappointed that Yuuki-san barely looked up when he entered.  And a little worried about how haggard his boss looked.  Usually bringing Yuuki-san sweets earned him a smile.  Usually Yuuki-san even took a break from his work and let Hatano sit with him.  Sometimes they even ate and drank together.  But it seemed like too much work had piled up for Yuuki to take even a short break today.  And Hatano had never seen Yuuki-san’s eyes look so sunken before.  Wordlessly, Hatano collected Yuuki’s mug from that morning, and the empty coffee press. 

            “How is Miyoshi?” Yuuki asked, just as Hatano started toward the door.

            Hatano stopped in his tracks, feeling pleased though he wasn’t quite sure why.  “He is well.  Alert and sharp when he’s awake.  He napped restlessly for most of the morning.  When he woke up, he was hungry.  For lunch he had a bowl of rice, some eggs, and miso soup.  Sakuma-san is with him now.”

            “He had you tend to Emma?” asked Yuuki.

            Hatano smirked.  And ratted Sakuma out.  “Yes.”

            The predatory gleam in Yuuki’s eyes made Hatano suddenly feel much better about his boss’s wellbeing.  And Sakuma wasn’t going to be in trouble for getting Hatano to do the task that Yuuki had explicitly told Sakuma to do.  Not really.  But chances were high that Yuuki would find some way to use this information against Sakuma in the coming days.  Even if it was just for a petty reason, like to embarrass him. 

            “I’m taking advantage of Sakuma-san owing me, and getting a few odd tasks done now.  Dinner is going to be udon in broth,” Hatano informed Yuuki.  “It will be ready early, because I think Miyoshi will probably be falling asleep shortly after.  Maybe you’d like to eat early too . . . so you can get to bed early . . .”

            Yuuki gave Hatano a dry look.

            “Or not.  Whichever you prefer,” Hatano said quickly.  “But at least you’ll have the option.”

            Yuuki almost smiled.  Hatano was sure of it.  But his boss managed to suppress it.

            “I should get back down to the kitchen.  It’s hard to tell what we have and how much.  Sakuma-san made a mess of our inventory.  So I need to take stock of what’s left in the pantry and icebox,” Hatano said.  And he was not kidding.  Sakuma was just lucky it wasn’t Fukumoto who had gotten home first.  There wasn’t much that annoyed Fukumoto, but Hatano was certain that seeing his kitchen and pantry in such disarray would have greatly perturbed D-Agency’s tallest spy.  “But Yuuki-san?  You know I’ll do whatever you need me to do to help.”

            “I know,” said Yuuki.  Which Hatano took to mean, “But there’s nothing I can delegate to you.” 

            And for the first time ever, Hatano found himself . . . not really jealous of Kaminaga and Miyoshi, who were being groomed to take over Yuuki’s position one day, and lead the agency but . . . but he wished he had whatever extra administrative training Yuuki had given to them, that made it so that they could help him with those kinds of tasks.

            Hatano went back down to the kitchen then.  He added a few seasonings to the broth, which was boiling nicely, then reduced it to simmering.  Then he started the long and boring task of kitchen and pantry inventory, and getting everything back in order.  But it was made more pleasant by Yoru slinking in and winding around his ankles, before jumping up onto a pantry shelf to watch.

            “Hey boy,” Hatano said, and reached up to scratch Yoru under his chin, then behind his ear when his cat turned its head.  “Did you come to make sure I did this right?”

            Yoru began purring, which Hatano took as a yes.

            “So you’re my supervisor now, is it?  I better not slack off then.”

            Hatano smiled and then got to work.  He’d rather be playing shogi with Miyoshi.  But this needed to be done.  He just hoped Miyoshi was having a good time with the lieutenant.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Miyoshi was having a very good time with the lieutenant.  And for once it wasn’t because he was tormenting him.  It was shocking to him too, but . . . they were having an actual pleasant conversation. 

            Sakuma was a much clearer source of information than young Emma had been.  Even though there were still many places where Miyoshi had to fill in the blanks because Sakuma wasn’t aware of some detail or line of reasoning that would have been obvious to any spy in D-Agency. 

            A lot had happened while he’d been away.  Miyoshi knew he shouldn’t have been surprised at just how much, but . . . well, he was.  His colleagues had been busy.  Both with work and with their personal lives.  Especially with their personal lives.  A lot had changed.  But Miyoshi found that he didn’t have to wonder how he would fit into their lives now.  There was no question that the eight of them would still have that strange, challenging camaraderie that they’d had during training, and after.  Even though many of them had been gone for a long time.  And wasn’t it funny that they were all home now, at the same time?  Miyoshi had thought, when Odagiri left, that they would never all be under the same roof again.  Jitsui being placed in a long term assignment here in Japan, while Miyoshi, Kaminaga, and Hatano were sent overseas had made that almost a certainty.  But here they were.  Or would be.  When the others made it home.  Which they would.  Yuuki-san had trained them well.  There was no reason to think that they wouldn’t make it, so Miyoshi did his best not to entertain those thoughts.

            A little more worrying was the fact that none of them being out on long term assignments meant that D-Agency wasn’t functioning quite like Yuuki-san had envisioned it.  Technically it was just bad luck that every spy in a long term assignment had their cover burned in some way, and had to come home, over the span of just a few months.  But that didn’t change that all their homecomings restricted the agency’s usefulness.  Whatever contacts or spy networks they’d set up overseas worked best with a D-Agency spy overseeing them.  They might not be completely blind to what was going on in other countries now, but they weren’t as effective as they could be.

            But they would handle that.  It would be hard, placing them now that the war was in full swing, but Miyoshi had all the faith in the world that Yuuki would figure out something.  Maybe even with Miyoshi’s help.  Miyoshi was well aware that he was one of the top candidates for taking over the agency after Yuuki stepped down.  So he had always been trusted with a little bit more than most of the others.  And since he would be stuck here at D-Agency for awhile while he was recovering, he saw no reason that Yuuki wouldn’t make use of him in the ways that he could.

            But that would come later.  After he had recovered a bit more.  For now, Miyoshi was stuck in bed and could barely lift his arms for fear of reopening his wound.  So he was content to sit there, pumping Sakuma for information.  And when all was said and done, Miyoshi didn’t think Sakuma realized just how much he had revealed to Miyoshi.  Which . . . was alright, Miyoshi supposed.  He knew Sakuma wouldn’t have spoken so freely to anyone outside of D-Agency about the events that had gone on here.  And most people wouldn’t have been able to glean as much information out of every sentence as Miyoshi had.  And it was kind of nice, talking to someone who he knew wasn’t dissecting every syllable of every word he said, looking for deeper meanings, or weaknesses in his arguments that they could exploit.  Make no mistake, Miyoshi would never complain about the other men of D-Agency doing just that.  He did the same thing himself.  He loved the challenge that they brought, and would never want them to change.  But with Sakuma, he felt like he could mentally relax in a way that he couldn’t with anyone else here at D-Agency. 

            Sakuma was far too earnest to be working with a bunch of ruthless spies, Miyoshi thought ruefully.  He had a clever streak, yes, and could scheme a bit too, but Miyoshi would never believe the lieutenant could have passed D-Agency’s training.  It took a certain amount of ruthlessness, spite, and deceitfulness to be a spy.  And Sakuma was severely lacking in all three.  Not that that was a bad thing.

            After Sakuma finished filling Miyoshi in on what had happened while he was gone, Miyoshi did end up teaching Sakuma a little bit about shogi.  They didn’t actually play a game, but Sakuma did learn what each piece was called, and the movements it was allowed to make on the board.  Giving him time to learn that, and ruminate on it for a bit before they started playing would hopefully reinforce it in his mind, and make it easier when he did start playing.

            “Out of curiosity,” Sakuma asked, after he finished setting the board up into its starting position, as per Miyoshi’s orders, “How good are all of you guys at this game?”

            “Why do you ask?” Miyoshi inquired.

            “So I know who to start off playing with, and who to work my way up to,” said Sakuma.  Practical.

            “Well,” Miyoshi said with a smile, “I’m one of the best in the house at shogi.  Naturally.”

            Sakuma looked a little nonplussed, as he always did when the spies chose to be honest rather than modest about their skills and abilities.

            “Kaminaga is also very, very good at shogi,” Miyoshi said.  “But the one you really want to watch out for is Hatano.  He is uncannily good at goading people into doing exactly what he wants, and setting traps.”

            “So, you’re saying I should wait until one of the others gets home before playing with anyone but you,” said Sakuma wryly.

            “I didn’t say that,” Miyoshi said with false innocence.  “You could probably beat Emma-chan.”

            Sakuma grimaced.  Miyoshi smirked.  And continued.

            “Also, be very wary if you play with Odagiri.  Not just shogi, but any traditional Japanese game.  Fukumoto . . . you may be able to beat him after you practice up enough.  He has a tendency to make some wild gambits.  Sometimes he can make them pay off.  Other times, they make him lose the game.  And Tazaki is quite good at Western chess, but falls behind in shogi.  Those are the two to challenge first.  Though be warned.  They will annihilate you in your first few dozen or so games,” Miyoshi warned Sakuma.  “Even the worst ones in a strategy game in D-Agency are leagues ahead of most everyone else.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Sakuma.  And he looked like he had no illusions about how he would fare against them.  At least at first.  But he wasn’t shying away from the challenge.  Miyoshi liked that about him.

            “Are you still feeling alright?” asked Sakuma.  “I would have thought Hatano would have been back by now to check on you.  Is there anything I can get for you?  Anything to eat?  Or drink?”

            Miyoshi considered.  Now that he was thinking about it, he was more tired than thirsty or hungry.  “Perhaps some tea?”  That would help keep him awake.  He wanted to stay up and talk with Sakuma a little longer.  Or more than a little.

            “Right.  I’ll be right back,” Sakuma said, and left at a fast paced walk.  He was back only a minute later, before Miyoshi had time to get bored or nod off.  “Hatano’s making your tea.  He says he’s bringing your dinner too.  Are you . . . are you hungry?  It hasn’t been that long since lunch.  If you’re not, I’ll go tell him just to bring the tea . . . ?”

            “I think that Hatano foresaw that I won’t be awake too much longer,” said Miyoshi.  “He wants to get another meal in me before I fall back to sleep.  Since he’s gone to the trouble to make it, I should at least try to oblige.”  Plus it was practical, Miyoshi knew.  He might not be hungry now, but his body had been starved for a week.  He needed all the nourishment he could get.  The more he was able to eat, the more energy his body had to heal itself. 

            “Er.  Yes.  It would be good.  Seeing you eat.  Er, that is . . .  I mean . . .  You just don’t look . . .”

            Miyoshi shot Sakuma a warning stare.  The lieutenant needed to choose his words carefully if he wanted to avoid Miyoshi’s wrath.

            “ . . . like you’ve been eating enough lately,” finished Sakuma.

            “No,” Miyoshi agreed.  “It was kind of hard to get a solid meal while I was masquerading as a corpse.”  He knew it was probably wrong of him, but he enjoyed seeing Sakuma flinch.  How touching.  So the lieutenant really did care.

            “This is the part where you should compliment him, lieutenant,” said Hatano, entering with Miyoshi’s dinner tray.  “Tell him you’re sure he made a lovely corpse.”

            “I would rather not joke about something that distasteful,” Sakuma said stiffly.

            “You hear that, Miyoshi?  He just called you distasteful.”

            “No that’s not – I didn’t mean it like that!” Sakuma quickly protested.

            Hatano sat the tray down on the table beside Miyoshi’s bed.  Miyoshi was already sitting up, so he didn’t have to help him.  But before he started feeding Miyoshi, he began peeling back Miyoshi’s blankets, to check his wound and change his bandages.  Smirking all the while, at having successfully riled up Sakuma.

            “How does it look?” asked Miyoshi, once Hatano had removed the bandages and began inspecting the wound.

            “Good, I think,” said Hatano.  There was relief in his expression.  Miyoshi knew why.  The more time that passed without the wound becoming infected, the better Miyoshi’s chances of a clean recovery were.  “How bad does it hurt?”

            “A constant ache,” said Miyoshi.  “But no sharp pain . . . except when I’m moved.”

            “Sorry,” said Hatano. 

            “Hardly your fault.”

            “Yeah.  I know.”  Hatano carefully touched the area at the edge of the cauterized wound.  Miyoshi tensed, expecting his touch to be cold, but instead his fingers were surprisingly warm.  “I think the seal is good.  It’s not cracking anywhere.  And there’s no blood on your bandages.  There wasn’t this morning either.”

            “Then why keep changing them?” asked Sakuma who was hovering nearby.  “Isn’t that a waste?”

            Hatano scowled at the stupid question.  Even Miyoshi had a hard time not sighing in exasperation.  “Changing the bandages cuts down on the risk of infection, Sakuma-san,” Miyoshi explained before Hatano could say something Hatano-like.  “There might not be blood on them, but they do accumulate perspiration and skin cells.  Both of which can cause bacterial infections.”

            “Oh.”

            Hatano rolled his eyes but didn’t speak.  Which was a great exercise of restraint for him.  Then he got to work, rebandaging Miyoshi’s wound.

            “When will you let me raise my arms above my chest?” Miyoshi inquired.

            “I . . . don’t know.  When Yuuki-san has a moment, maybe he can check and give his opinion.”  Something dark and troubled flickered through Hatano’s eyes.  But only because his back was to Sakuma, Miyoshi was sure.  If he had an audience, Hatano would have kept his poker face firmly in place.  Miyoshi was trusted to see Hatano’s worry.  Because it was Miyoshi who Hatano was worried for. 

            Again, Miyoshi felt a tightness in his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with his physical injury.

            “Well, when he has time,” said Miyoshi.  “I can wait.  There are not many reasons to be lifting my hands above my chest when I’m in bed anyway.”

            “No, but next you’re going to be wondering when you can stand and get out of bed on your own.  Then you’re going to want to get back to physical reconditioning.”  Hatano finished redressing Miyoshi’s wound and wrapped a blanket around him again, bundling him up.  Which was hardly necessary.  The infirmary was warm.  Miyoshi could never remember D-Agency being this warm in the winter time before. 

            My family is spoiling me, he thought, unable to hold back a smile. 

            This point was only proven further when Hatano caught Miyoshi’s eye, smirked, and gave him a wink.  Then schooled his face into a serious expression and stood up abruptly.

            “I’ll leave the rest to you, Lieutenant.”

            “Er – What?”

            “Feeding Miyoshi,” said Hatano.  “If he lifts his arms above his chest, he could reopen his wound.  So he must be spoon fed.  But I have other work, and you don’t.  So I’ll entrust this to you.”

            Sakuma floundered.  Miyoshi wanted to laugh. 

            “Unless you would prefer to make dinner for and feed Emma?” Hatano suggested, overly innocent.

            “No . . . that’s okay.” 

            And that was how Sakuma ended up feeding Miyoshi dinner. 

            Most men would have not been so pleased to have someone they fancied feeding them, while they were bedridden and unable to even feed themselves.  They would have considered it emasculating and embarrassing.  But Miyoshi rather enjoyed the attention.  And watching Sakuma squirm a bit.  He had very obviously never done this before.  Taking care of someone was a new experience for him, and it made him very nervous.  Miyoshi even heard him mutter something about strangling Hatano under his breath.

            Dinner that night was udon in broth.  The udon had been cooked so soft that Sakuma was easily able to cut it with chopsticks, into pieces small enough to fit into the spoon he was using to feed Miyoshi.  And the broth was full of the flavors of Japan, and tasted so much like home that it made Miyoshi want to cry.  But what made him want to cry even more was how much of it ended up on him.  Or on the blanket covering him.  Sakuma’s hands weren’t nearly as steady as Hatano’s.  His movements were too abrupt, and he filled the spoon too full, and ended up sloshing it over the sides, and dripping.  A lot.  Miyoshi considered himself lucky for being covered by a blanket, and not wearing a shirt beneath it.  By the time he finished, the blanket looked like someone had splashed tea on it.  In several places, it had soaked all the way through, and Miyoshi could feel the damp spots pressed against his skin. 

            “I’m surprised you ate all that,” commented Sakuma, as he stacked the dishes, as soon as they were done.

            Miyoshi nearly pointed out that he really didn’t eat all of it.  A quarter of it had ended up dripping on him.

            “Those noodles were cooked weird.  They were too soft.  I can’t imagine they tasted very good.”

            “I think Hatano boiled them so soft to make them easier to digest,” Miyoshi said, and he couldn’t help feeling a spike of annoyance on Hatano’s behalf.  Udon noodles that soft were a bit weird to eat, but the motive behind cooking them that way made Miyoshi defensive of them.  And the broth had been delicious. 

            “Maybe tomorrow, if you want some real food, I could cook for you,” suggested Sakuma, oblivious to many things.  Not the least of which being that Hatano was currently standing in the doorway.

            “And what would you cook, Lieutenant?  Tamagoyaki again?” Hatano asked.

            Sakuma jumped and looked at Hatano guiltily.

            “Fukumoto has not forgotten what you did to his favorite pan, even if you have,” said Hatano.  “You’ll obey the terms of your banishment from the kitchen or you will pay the price.”

            “And you don’t want to know the price, Sakuma-san,” said Miyoshi.  “Please don’t risk it on my account.”  Miyoshi truly hoped Sakuma would heed his advice.  Because if he didn’t, Miyoshi would have to tell Sakuma the truth: that his cooking was . . . shit, to put it mildly.  In his current condition, Miyoshi knew that he wouldn’t be able to pretend otherwise.  Or keep it down.  And vomiting with a healing puncture wound in his chest was not something Miyoshi wanted to experience.  At all.  He had no doubt it would hurt like hell.  It wasn’t impossible that his wound could reopen, if that happened. 

            And Hatano had already been stressed out by Miyoshi’s condition enough as it was.  It was a little bit funny.  Miyoshi had never really felt protective of the younger spy before.  Sure, he’d stepped in that time when a couple older trainees had been planning to beat him up, back when trainees were still being cut, but that was more to get Hatano on his side than because he thought Hatano needed someone to intervene.  And that time one of Hatano’s missions had gone south, and he’d come home covered in blood . . . well, it was only natural to be alarmed when one of your colleagues showed up, covered in blood.  But now Miyoshi was the one in dire straights.  There wasn’t much he could do to protect anyone.  Hatano had stepped up and taken care of him.  The very least Miyoshi could do was everything he could to make sure Hatano didn’t have to burn his wound shut again.  Even if he did have to be rude and reject his crush’s abysmal attempts at cooking.

            “Finished?” asked Hatano, coming over to inspect the empty dishes, then stacking them and setting them aside. 

            “Yes.  Thank you for the meal.”

            “What would you like to do now, then?” asked Hatano.  “Sleep?  Read?”

            “I wonder if it would be possible for me to use the facilities?” asked Miyoshi.  “Or are you going to make me use a bed pan?”

            That got a nice blush out of Sakuma, who quickly excused himself.  Hatano managed to foist Miyoshi’s dishes on Sakuma before he left, however, telling him to take them to the kitchen.  From Hatano’s smirk, after Sakuma left, Miyoshi knew Hatano was pretty sure Sakuma would wash the dishes for him too.  Just to seem like he had something else to be doing and somewhere else to be.  Then Hatano lifted Miyoshi, and got him into the infirmary’s wheelchair, which made taking him to the restroom much easier. 

            When he brought Miyoshi back, he laid him down in bed, flat rather than sitting up, and Miyoshi knew Hatano had caught the many signs showing how tired Miyoshi had grown. 

            “Tomorrow, if you feel up to trying more solid foods, I’ll make you tamagoyaki,” Hatano told him, as he tucked Miyoshi in.  “If there’s time, I’ll try to make a run to the market too.  We’re low on a lot of things.  Sakuma-san made a complete mess of our kitchen inventory.”

            “He meant well, I’m sure,” said Miyoshi.  “I gather that Emma-chan was quite a handful for him.”

            Hatano smirked.  “Yes.  She fits right in.  But since I’ll be hopefully going to the market, do you have any requests?  I’ll make sure to get the ingredients for whatever you want, if they’re available.”

            “Fish,” Miyoshi requested.  “Any kind.  Braised with miso.  And ginger.  Please.”

            “With soy sauce on the side?” asked Hatano, raising his eyebrows playfully right before he dimmed the lights.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

            “Hatano?” Miyoshi called out quickly before Hatano could leave.

            “What’s wrong?” Hatano asked.

            “Nothing.  I just have another request.”

            “Aren’t you needy all of a sudden,” Hatano teased.  “What do you want now?”

            “Not now, but tomorrow,” said Miyoshi.  “If you have time, I really would like to play a game of shogi with you.”

            He was pretty sure Hatano would have time.  But Hatano just liked to be contrary.  “I’ll see what I can do,” Hatano said again, but good naturedly, as he stepped out of the infirmary and began to shut the door behind him.  “Good night.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Dinner for the rest of the house that night felt strange.  Yuuki-san did not come down to eat with them.  Which wasn’t really unexpected.  More often than not, Yuuki came down and got dinner on his own time, after they were done, and took it back up to his office to eat as he worked.  So it was just Hatano, Emma, and Sakuma.  And dinner in D-Agency, with that few people was weird.

            Hatano had been in residence since he returned from France, thanks to his head injuries.  Emma was a permanent fixture as well.  Jitsui, Odagiri, and Miyoshi had all been absent until very recently, so them not being around wasn’t really strange.  But usually someone else was there.  Kaminaga was almost always in residence too.  It seemed Yuuki had decided that after surviving their first missions and proving themselves, he should keep one of his potential successors close by.  Kaminaga complained about it a little bit, but it was obvious that he liked his position.  Amari was usually in residence as well.  Since adopting a daughter, he had taken a step back from being a full time spy.  Now most of his work was support.  Being a handler, helping analyzing information that the others sent back, and so forth.  Tazaki was in and out of the agency.  Apparently he’d once regularly made trips abroad to other parts of Asia, but as of late, much of D-Agency’s focus had switched to counter-espionage.  Which meant more often than not, Tazaki was home for dinner.

            So the table seemed pretty sparse that night.  And a little bit awkward.  There was clearly no affection between Emma and Sakuma.  And it wasn’t like Hatano and Sakuma got along well either.  Emma was happy enough that night because Hatano had cooked her dinner, but she did keep shooting dirty looks at Sakuma, who gave her stern looks in return.

            “Thank you for the meal,” Sakuma said stiffly once he had finished.  Then added, probably worried Hatano would hold a grudge for his earlier comments, “The udon was cooked just right.  And the broth was very good.”

            “Udon looks like worms,” Emma commented before Hatano could speak.  “Big fat worms.”

            “Which is why I cooked ramen for you,” Hatano said, and patted the top of her head.  “Because I know how you feel about udon.”  He pretended not to see when she stuck her tongue out at Sakuma.  And Sakuma looked affronted, but didn’t seem to know how to react to this display. 

            “Will you give me a bath tonight, Hatano-nii?” asked Emma, still glaring at Sakuma.  “I don’t want to wear a bathing suit to the bath tonight.”

            Hatano blinked.  Then looked at Sakuma, very amused.  “You made her wear a bathing suit while taking a bath?”

            “I didn’t – I wasn’t -  I thought –”  Sakuma stammered then shook his head.  “Just . . . you give her a bath tonight.  I’ll clean up from dinner.”

            Emma was a little angel for Hatano, when he gave her a bath, then towel dried and brushed her hair, by the fireplace, where it was warm.  Then she crawled into his lap, and begged for a story.  And Hatano was happy to oblige.  Especially since Amari would have been upset if he learned anyone let Emma go to bed with wet hair.  Plus the last thing Hatano needed was for her to catch a chill and get sick.  Illness in the house while Miyoshi was recovering from such a severe wound would have been very bad.  And Hatano would have to care for both of them.  Which meant that to avoid contaminating Miyoshi, he would have to shower before going into the infirmary every time.  Then it probably wouldn’t be long before Hatano succumbed to illness himself.  Even though they were keeping D-Agency warmer than it had ever been in the winter before, the chances of Hatano’s immune system holding up after this last week were minimal.  So Hatano did what he had to do to keep Emma healthy.  Not that it was really a chore.  He liked spending time with Emma.

            So he told her a story about a brave mermaid princess who saved a baby dolphin from sharks, and how the dolphin grew up to be her best friend, and went on many adventures with her.  He thought it was a pretty engaging story.  And to Emma it probably was.  But like she so often did during bedtime stories, she curled up in his lap and fell right to sleep before he was even halfway through. 

            Hatano sat there with her for a little while longer, until her hair was dry, before carrying her to bed and tucking her in.  Then he went back down to the kitchen and checked on the state of things.  Sakuma had lived up to his word and washed all the dishes.  Hatano’s smirk fell away, however, when he saw that the portion he’d set aside for Yuuki-san had been covered and put in the ice box. 

            It was getting late.  And it had been a long while since Hatano had brought Yuuki tea and cinnamon rolls.  It was past time that Yuuki ate a real meal if he wanted to keep his energy and concentration up.  So Hatano poured the soup and noodles into a pan and heated them back up.  Then he poured them into another bowl.  One that wasn’t chilled from time spent in the ice box.  Then he went upstairs with the food to Yuuki’s office.

            He knocked before entering, as he always did.  And when he received no answer, he knocked again.  Getting no response would have normally made him deduce that Yuuki-san was not in his office.  But that made no sense, considering Yuuki’s work load.  It was possible that he’d stepped out of his office for a bit, or maybe even gone to his room for a catnap.  But Hatano had a sinking feeling in his chest.  One that made him ease the door open to check.

            “Yuuki-san?” he asked softly, upon seeing his boss, at his desk, but slouched down and leaning over his workspace, with his head pillowed on his arms. 

            Yuuki started and sat straight up.  He looked right at Hatano and seemed confused for a moment.  “Sho?”

            “Grandfather – Yuuki-san . . .” Hatano knew what was wrong, or at least the gist of it, even if he didn’t want to believe it.  “I think you have a fever.”

            Yuuki frowned and looked down at the documents he’d just been sleeping on.  And then seemed to come back to himself.  “Yes . . . well there’s no help for it.”

            “No help for it?  Yuuki-san, you need rest,” said Hatano.

            “I have work,” Yuuki said sternly.  Or tried to say sternly.  The effect was ruined by him breaking off into a coughing fit.  Hatano didn’t miss the alarm in his eyes.  Or the protective glint, as Yuuki waved at him, motioning toward the door.  Trying to tell Hatano to leave.  Once he was finished coughing, he looked at Hatano with a combination of impatience and affectionate exasperation.  “Out.”

            “No,” Hatano said stubbornly, and stepped further into the room.

            “Hatano.  I need you to leave.”

            “No.  You need to eat is what you need to do,” said Hatano.  He put the tray down on Yuuki’s desk, careful not to put it on top of any papers, then fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and dropped it on the desk as well.  “Cough into that.  To minimalize contamination.  And work while you eat.  I’ll give you forty-five minutes to wrap up your work for the night.  Then you need to sleep.  In your bed.”

            Yuuki gave him a dry look.  “You’re giving me orders now?”

            Hatano knew his lower lip was jutting out, childishly, but he didn’t care.  “You know I’m right, Yuuki-san.  We can’t make light of this right now.”

            Because if Miyoshi got sick, it would be very bad.  And depending on what kind of illness he caught . . . he could very easily die.  A fever or a chill he might be able to shake, but a cough or chest infection . . . those would probably kill him.

            Yuuki only looked stubborn for another moment, then nodded curtly, recognizing that Hatano was right.

            “I’ll make a plan,” promised Hatano.  “I’ll figure out the best way to take care of both you and Miyoshi, and keep him from getting sick.  So you just worry about work for forty-five more minutes.  I’ll take care of the rest.”

            “I’ll entrust running the house to you,” Yuuki said, almost casually as he picked back up his pen and looked back at his work.  He said it the way he would have said if he was entrusting Hatano with some small task.  Like picking up a package from the tailor, or bringing in the mail.  He said it like he had no doubt Hatano could do it.

            “Right,” Hatano said, and stepped back.  “I’ll be back in forty-five minutes.”

            “That is not necessary,” Yuuki said.

            “Forty-five minutes,” Hatano repeated stubbornly, on his way to the door.  “And remember to eat!”

            He shut the door quickly so that he could have the last word.  Then he stood frozen for a moment as the gravity of everything crashed over him.

            “Shit.”

            “Hatano?” Sakuma had been climbing the stairs.  And of course he’d just reached the landing in time to hear Hatano’s curse.  “Is something the matter?”

            “Yuuki-san’s sick,” said Hatano.

            “Oh . . .”

            “This is bad, Sakuma-san,” said Hatano.  “If Miyoshi catches this, on top of his injuries, he will probably die.”

            “Oh . . .”  Sakuma’s face twisted in a very interesting way.  Then he stood up straighter, like he was steeling himself.  “What do you need me to do?”

            “Pack a bag.”

            “What?” Sakuma’s eyes widened with dismay.  “No.  I’m not leaving –”

            “I’m quarantining you with Miyoshi in the infirmary,” Hatano interrupted what was certain to have been a very noble tirade.  “So pack like you plan on being away two weeks.  Clothes, sleep clothes, tooth brush, any books or games or other items you want to entertain yourself, any paperwork you might have to do.  Pack it all and take it down to the infirmary.  You’ll be staying there with him until one of the others comes home, or the rest of the house is disease-free.”

            Sakuma’s eyes were bulging now.  “You mean – I’m staying there with him?  Like I’m the one who will be watching over him?”

            Hatano raised an eyebrow and nodded.

            “But I have no medical training or expertise –”

            “I’ll teach you what you need to know,” said Hatano.  “How to change his bandages, the signs of infection you’ll need to watch out for, what not to let him do no matter how much he insists he’s well enough to do it.  I’ll make lists and easy reference notes for you.  If we can get through a few more days without Miyoshi showing any signs of infection, he should be in the clear, as long as he doesn’t get sick.”

            “But . . .” Sakuma still looked bewildered.  Maybe even a little scared.  Hatano couldn’t blame him.  It wasn’t fun having someone else’s life in your hands.

            “It will be okay, Lieutenant,” he tried to reassure him.  “If you have questions, I’ll be around for you to ask.”

            “You’re the one who knows all this medical stuff,” Sakuma continued to protest.  “Why won’t you take care of him?”

            Hatano sighed.  “Because I’m probably going to catch whatever Yuuki-san has.”

            He didn’t think it was possible for Sakuma to look anymore horrified.  To his amusement, he was wrong.

            “What?”

            “Don’t look at me like I’m dying, Lieutenant.  I’m not.  Neither is Yuuki-san.  Nor Miyoshi.”  Not if Hatano had anything to say about it.  “But when you’re in a high stress situation like Yuuki-san and I were, your immune system grows vulnerable.  That wasn’t helped by the frigid temperatures we were subjected to.  It takes time for your immune system to bounce back after that.  My system hasn’t had time, and I can’t quarantine myself from Yuuki-san.  I can’t leave him alone when he’s sick.  I’m going to take every precaution to protect myself from his illness that I can, but more likely than not, it won’t be enough.”  Hatano could tell his explanation was getting through to Sakuma and was glad the lieutenant wasn’t as dense as he’d once been.  “Which is why I’m having you care for Miyoshi.  It’s not too hard.  I promise.  We should be past the worst of it now.  And if by some chance, we’re not, and something really bad happens . . . if Miyoshi’s wound gets infected or he catches Yuuki-san’s illness, the hospital is an option.”

            “Then why don’t we take him there now to be on the safe side?” asked Sakuma.

            “Because it’s not necessarily the safe side.  All it takes is one careless nurse or doctor to spread an infectious disease through multiple wards,” said Hatano.  “I trust us more than people I don’t know.  The hospital is our last resort, for if we all become too ill to take care of Miyoshi, or complications arise that we can’t handle.  Otherwise he’s still safer here.”

            Sakuma didn’t look completely reassured, but seemed to be running out of arguments.  “And Emma-chan?  What about her?”

            “I’ll take care of her,” Hatano said.

            “And if she gets sick?  Or you get sick?”

            “I’ll take care of her.  Even if I’m sick too.  It’s not a perfect solution, but I can’t put her in with Miyoshi.  She won’t stay in quarantine no matter what we say, and if she’s coming and going, she’ll be putting Miyoshi at risk,” said Hatano.  “Hopefully she won’t get sick.  She’s less likely to than I am, but if she does, I’ll deal with it.  With luck, we’ll have a few days before anyone else gets sick.  And who knows, maybe Yuuki-san will be better by then.  Or one of the others will make it home.”

            The latter was unlikely.  No one else’s exit strategy had involved an airplane . . . though it was possible one or more of them might fight their way aboard one.  Not likely, but possible.  Otherwise, they would be relying on trains to get out of Europe and across Asia, and then they’d still need to take a boat back to Japan.  That would take longer . . . but D-Agency spies were nothing if not resourceful. 

            Hatano too.  He would get them through this.  Yuuki-san was trusting him.

            “Go pack,” he ordered Sakuma.  “Be in the infirmary tonight.  I need . . . to do other stuff.”

            His mind was already jumping ahead to the tasks he needed to take care of.  Chief among them being food and preventative measures.  He’d need to prepare food for the household in advance, in case he got sick too.  And he needed to make sure that when he did go and see Miyoshi, he didn’t contaminate anything.  He’d shower before going into the infirmary, every time now, no matter how much havoc it wreaked on his skin.  And wear a medical mask.  Tomorrow.  He wouldn’t be going to see Miyoshi again tonight, unless Miyoshi woke up and needed something that Sakuma couldn’t take care of.  He needed to go to the market tomorrow too . . .

            Thoughts swirling, plans forming, tasks mentally being put in order, Hatano made his way down to the kitchen.  Fukumoto kept medical tea blends there.


	7. Chapter 7

            Miyoshi’s second night home at D-Agency passed much quicker than the first.  His body and his mind seemed to have finally synced up about when he needed to rest.  He slept so soundly that he didn’t even hear when the infirmary door opened.

            The next morning he woke feeling well rested, still in some pain, but better than he had felt since before the accident, but also with a foggy sense of confusion.  The ceiling was unfamiliar.  It took him a few moments to remember he was home at D-Agency.  When he did, he couldn’t help but be a bit annoyed at himself.  It didn’t matter that he was recovering, or that he’d barely ever spent time in D-Agency’s infirmary before yesterday.  He expected better of himself.  He felt like he should have remembered where he was instantly.

            An unsettling feeling suddenly swirled in Miyoshi’s stomach as he realized he wasn’t alone.  He turned his head slowly, expecting to see Hatano sitting next to him, smirking about having sneaked in undetected.  He did not expect to see Sakuma laying in the bed next to his.

            Miyoshi frowned.  Because as nice a sight as it was, waking up next to Sakuma, so to speak, he knew that the lieutenant’s presence here couldn’t mean anything good.  Especially not since he was in his sleep clothes and had a bag packed at the foot of his bed, like he was planning on staying here for some time. 

            Something was wrong in the rest of the house.

            Illness.

            Probably Hatano.

            Miyoshi’s mind made the deductive leaps effortlessly, and for which he was glad.  There were other explanations, and other people who might be sick, he knew, but he believed he’d come to the most likely conclusion. 

            So, Yuuki had quarantined Sakuma in the infirmary with Miyoshi . . . but that didn’t seem completely right.  That would leave Yuuki-san to take care of Emma, and fix meals for everyone, in addition to his backlog of work.  Which wasn’t impossible.  It just meant that meals would likely be rice and military rations.  He still wasn’t sure how Yuuki would deal with Emma.  Maybe she would be content to spend her time drawing while Yuuki worked?  Or maybe it was the girl who was sick.  Which meant Hatano would be caring for her, which made Miyoshi worried.  Hatano was too susceptible to disease right now.  He would likely catch whatever she had . . . which would be why Yuuki quarantined Sakuma in with Miyoshi. 

            No matter who was sick, that had been the right decision.  Sakuma would be getting some impromptu lessons in treating wounds and keeping them free of infection. 

            Then the door opened.  So quietly that Miyoshi almost missed it.  And Hatano entered.  He wore a medical mask over the lower half of his face and carried a breakfast tray balanced on top of a huge armful of books.  Miyoshi honestly had no idea how he managed to get the door open, and watched with amusement as Hatano nudged it shut with his foot.

            Then Hatano turned to Miyoshi, and he didn’t look at all surprised to find him awake.

            “How do you feel?” he asked softly, his voice muffled slightly by the mask so his tone came across even softer.

            “Still in pain.  I think it’s a little less than yesterday, though,” said Miyoshi.

            “Good.”  Hatano set his burden down on the bed he’d slept in his first night there.  The food tray slid precociously to one side, but Hatano caught it expertly, so that nothing spilled. 

            “Fukumoto would throw a fit to see that,” Miyoshi commented.

            “Fukumoto is not here,” Hatano said smugly.  “So I can juggle onigiri and teacups if I so feel like it.”

            “Filled teacups?” Miyoshi asked curiously.  He knew Hatano had some insane physical skills but that . . .

            “Depends . . . who’s putting money down on it and if they’re giving me a cut,” answered Hatano. 

            “I’ll see what I can arrange when the others return . . . and when Fukumoto is not around.”

            “Yes,” Hatano agreed.  Then he grew serious.  “You probably already guessed this, but Yuuki-san is sick.”

            Miyoshi was careful not to let his surprise show on his face.  He’d known the possibility existed, but he hadn’t actually thought . . . Yuuki-san just seemed so . . . invincible.  Despite his age, his physical condition was so good that Miyoshi wouldn’t bet against him in a fight against anyone.  The idea of him getting sick was jarring.  Even though Yuuki-san had been subjected to the same conditions on the trip home from Berlin as Hatano . . . actually, his conditions had been worse, since Hatano had spent a significant amount of time sharing body heat with Miyoshi, and thus was much warmer, even then, Miyoshi hadn’t thought that something like disease would ever faze Yuuki.

            “I made the decision to quarantine Sakuma-san in here with you,” Hatano continued.  Both glanced over at the lieutenant, who still slept soundly, despite the soft conversation being carried out right in front of him.  “I’ll still be around in case you need anything, but I’m afraid our game of shogi will have to wait.”

            “Understandable,” agreed Miyoshi, keeping his regret out of his tone.  “You’re going to be very busy.”

            “Yuuki-san doesn’t seem horribly sick,” Hatano informed him, as he began splitting the items from the large breakfast tray up onto two smaller trays that had been balanced beneath it.  “But he does have a fever and a cough, which we need to keep you from catching.  He also exhausted himself horribly . . . I should have done more to keep that from happening –”

            “It’s funny that you think you could,” Miyoshi commented.

            Hatano scowled at him.  Which was fine.  Miyoshi would rather the younger man be annoyed at him than be feeling guilty about what was clearly outside of his control.  No one could have kept Yuuki-san from working himself to exhaustion, and they both knew it.  If anyone should be feeling guilty, it should be Miyoshi.  It was because they’d gone to rescue him that this situation had arisen.  But what it came down to was that they’d all made choices, and they all had to live with the consequences.  And maybe Miyoshi was overly optimistic, but he really believed they would all come through this okay.

            “Rather than feel guilty over the past, you should focus on how to keep from getting sick yourself,” Miyoshi said more seriously.  “You know how susceptible you are right now.”

            “Why do you think I’m wearing this mask?” asked Hatano.  “And have wet hair at this time of the day?”

            When Hatano stepped closer, bringing Miyoshi his breakfast, Miyoshi saw that Hatano’s hair was damp.

            “You should dry it –”

            “I showered as soon as I got back from the market.  Granted, the masses in Japan aren’t as unwashed as those of the foreign countries I’ve been to, but you never know what diseases anyone’s carrying,” complained Hatano.  “I towel dried it the best I could.  I don’t have time to sit in the lounge, in front of the fire, waiting for it to dry –”

            “You should make time.  My breakfast can wait.”

            “Your breakfast isn’t the only thing I’m responsible for today.”

            “Hatano, don’t make light of this,” Miyoshi requested.  “You wish that you had done more to keep Yuuki-san from getting sick.  Please don’t make me wish I’d nagged you more to keep you from getting sick.”

            Miyoshi was pretty sure that Hatano was frowning behind his mask.  Which meant he may have gotten through to the younger spy.

            “It’s warm in here,” Hatano said, as he helped Miyoshi sit up.  “And the kitchen warmed up while I was cooking.  But . . . I guess Emma and I can eat in the lounge this morning.”  By the fire was left unsaid, but implied.

            “Thank you,” said Miyoshi, as Hatano moved the tray of food and set it down on his lap.  Breakfast this morning was miso soup, rice, and broiled fish with soy sauce.  It looked so good that Miyoshi could have cried . . . though he hadn’t been thanking Hatano just for the food.  But Hatano deliberately misinterpreted it that way.

            “You better thank me.  I had to practically mug an old man for that mackerel.  But you said you wanted fish.”  Hatano sat down beside him with a pair of chopsticks and used them to cut off a piece of the fish.  He held it out for Miyoshi, who opened his mouth obligingly. 

            “If Sakuma-san isn’t awake by the time you finish eating, I’m going to have to wake him up.”  Hatano continued to speak as he fed Miyoshi.  “I need to show him how to change your bandages, and how to check your wound for infection.  I brought some medical books for him, but . . . it’s not that complicated.  At this stage, either the wound is clean and fine, or it’s opened up and bleeding, or infected and turning colors it obviously shouldn’t be.”

            “Though Sakuma-san does seem like the sort who would feel better with an instruction manual, or medical equivalent on hand,” Miyoshi said when his mouth was empty. 

            Hatano lifted a full cup of tea.  “This is one of Fukumoto’s medicinal blends.  It’s bitter but not intolerable.  I tried adding sugar but that made the flavor worse.  It’s not what I’d normally choose to start the day, but it’s necessary.”

            “Agreed,” Miyoshi said, and mentally braced himself against the flavor.  Hatano held the cup to his lips for him to sip.  Miyoshi did his best to swallow it without tasting it.  Thankfully, Hatano was quick to follow it up with a chopstick scoop of rice. 

            “Sorry,” Hatano said.  “If it makes you feel any better, I’m making Sakuma-san drink some too.”

            “And I trust that you’re drinking it yourself?” asked Miyoshi.

            Hatano rolled his eyes.  “Two cups last night.  Three so far this morning.  Thankfully it doesn’t make you need to pee a lot.  Speaking of which, I’ll take you to the toilet before I show Sakuma how to check your wound.  And I’ll give you your sponge bath while he gets his morning shower.  I thought about making him do it . . . and there may come a time when he has to . . . but I don’t want to stress him out to the point where he gets sick too.”

            Miyoshi said nothing.  Thankfully, Hatano didn’t seem to expect him to, and offered him a drink of miso soup.  Then breakfast continued as normal.  Or as normal as it could when someone had to feed Miyoshi, because he couldn’t lift his hands above chest level.  He was acutely grateful that Hatano was so good at keeping the food from dripping or falling.  As good as the fish smelled right now, he didn’t fancy smelling like it all day. 

            “Thank you for the meal,” Miyoshi said, once all the food was gone. 

            Hatano nodded and wiped Miyoshi’s mouth with the napkin, even though he didn’t really need it.  “I hoped the fish was all you dreamed it would be and more.”  Miyoshi could tell by his eyes that he was giving a sardonic smirk beneath his mask.

            Miyoshi resisted the urge to respond in kind.  “It was excellent.  My compliments to the chef.”

            He was sure Hatano was pleased, but Hatano, being Hatano, did his best not to show it.  “I still have a ways to go to catch up to Fukumoto.”

            “You sell yourself short,” Miyoshi said, before he had time to think better of the wording.

            “You trying to be funny now?  Are you sure that’s smart when I control your meals?”

            “That was poor wording on my part,” Miyoshi said quickly.  “What I meant was, your cooking isn’t far behind Fukumoto’s, if it is behind his at all.”

            “You just don’t want me to make the lieutenant cook for you.  Speaking of whom . . .”  Hatano walked over to the window and pulled the curtains open, letting the light in.  A particularly bright beam spilled over Sakuma’s bed.  “Please wake up now, Lieutenant.  It’s nearly ten o’clock.”

            It was probably more Hatano’s words than the light that had Sakuma snapping to awareness.  “Ten o’clock?”

            Long past when Sakuma normally rose.  Which just showed that Miyoshi wasn’t the only one who had been exhausted.  But Sakuma really did bring it on himself.  No one made him get up early at D-Agency.

            “Good morning,” Hatano told him, politely.  “I brought you breakfast too, but first, please watch as I change Miyoshi’s bandages.”

            Sakuma clambered out of bed and looked at his bag.  “Should I –”

            “No need,” said Hatano.  “You can get dressed later.  If you choose to get dressed at all.  It’s not strictly necessary, since you won’t be leaving this house, or going further from this room than the showers today.”

            “It’s not seemly,” Sakuma said stiffly.

            Hatano shrugged.  “Well, your sleep clothes are often more sanitary than your street clothes, so it is practical.  That is the reason I didn’t let you bring any suit coats or ties in here, after all.”

            Sakuma looked uncomfortable as he stood up and tried to straighten his sleep shirt for some inane reason.  Then he looked at Miyoshi with a bit of concern.  “Good morning, Miyoshi.  How do you feel today?”

            “A little better than yesterday, I believe.”

            “That’s good.”  Sakuma looked genuinely pleased.  Then genuinely awkward as Hatano began pulling the blankets away from Miyoshi’s naked body, leaving him bare from the waist up.

            “Take note of how much slack his bandages have, Lieutenant,” Hatano instructed, not wasting time.  “They’re snug, but not tight.  His wound has been closed long enough that he’s not bleeding anymore, so lots of pressure isn’t necessary.”  
            “I see.  Are you changing his bandages now?”

            “Not quite yet.  I’m taking him to the toilet.  I’ll remove his bandages when we get back, and show you how to check for infection.  Not that there’s much to show.  Then I’m giving him a sponge bath.”

            The muscles in Sakuma’s mouth twitched and his cheeks reddened.

            “You can get your shower while I do that.  Then when you get back, I’ll show you how to rebandage the –”

            “Right,” Sakuma said quickly.  “I’ll do that now.”  He started for the door.  Hatano let him go.  Then gave Miyoshi a dry look as the door closed behind him.

            “Well, I guess I can show him how to check for infection after your sponge bath as well as before.  But seriously, I’m impressed.  All it takes is a mention of sponge bathing you to make him start turning red all the way to the tips of his ears.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            It took being drenched with cold water to make Sakuma’s face stop feeling like it was on fire.  D-Agency’s water always took a good while to heat up.  Until now, he’d never exactly been grateful for that. 

            But as the water went from freezing cold, to chilly, and started to make its way to lukewarm, Sakuma regained enough sense of mind to feel embarrassed, and a bit ashamed of himself.  Hatano had probably taken offense to his sudden flight.  Possibly Miyoshi too.  And Sakuma couldn’t blame either of them.  He’d seen the spies being lewd before, and that wasn’t what Hatano had been doing.  He’d been treating the situation professionally.  Like a doctor would.  And, Sakuma realized, he was even being lenient towards Sakuma’s temperament when it came to this kind of thing.  Hatano could have very easily demanded that Sakuma stay and observe how to give Miyoshi a sponge bath.  Honestly, Sakuma probably should have volunteered to stay on his own.  Because it was something he probably should have observed, from start to finish in case he needed to be the one to give Miyoshi a sponge bath.  Hatano himself had said he was probably going to come down with the same illness Yuuki had.  And . . . there was nothing obscene about it.  Not really.  It was a medical thing.  The kind of thing a doctor or army medic would do without a second thought.  He’d always known that his duties as D-Agency’s liaison would include unusual tasks from time to time. 

            Sakuma didn’t understand why this one was affecting him so.  Especially since he’d seen Miyoshi, and all the spies, naked before.  The showers were just spigots attached to a wall, with no dividers between them for privacy.  In the army, things had been much the same.  There was no reason to be blushing about this, acting like a school boy sneaking into his first peep show.  He needed to be careful, lest someone suggest something of the sort, which could put it in someone’s mind that Sakuma might have fallen for Miyoshi.  Which was ridiculous, because they were both men, and Sakuma did not have tastes that leaned that way, but he knew some of the spies did, and if any of them suggested such a thing about Sakuma, it might make the others believe it.  Sakuma didn’t want that.  So he needed to comport himself as professionally as he always had before.  That’s all there was to it. 

            So that’s what Sakuma resolved to do. 

            But when he finished his shower (quickly, because it occurred to him that the longer he was out of the infirmary, the greater the risk of catching what Yuuki had come down with) and returned to the infirmary, Hatano was still in the process of giving Miyoshi a sponge bath.  From the looks of it, he had just finished washing and patting dry Miyoshi’s . . . groin region. 

            Both spies looked at Sakuma as he entered, and saw his reinflamed cheeks.  Then, as if he was no more than a fly on the wall, both pretty much put him out of their minds.  Well, that wasn’t completely true.  Hatano did drape a towel over Miyoshi, covering him from hip to hip, before he began rubbing a washcloth down Miyoshi’s left thigh.

            “That was when Jitsui showed up,” said Hatano, continuing the story he’d been in the process of telling.  “And I would have loved to have seen the look on Boss Wind Bag’s face.  According to Jitsui, it was pretty great.  Especially when he showed him that he’d been wearing the exact same attachment under his sleeve, and used it in the opposite way, right in front of that fool without him noticing.”

            “Was he still wearing the glasses?”

            “Yes.”

            Miyoshi gave a soft, slightly painful looking laugh.  And inexplicably, Sakuma felt something in his chest tighten.  He tried to make himself busy, folding his clothes, as Hatano segued into the story of their trip out for ice cream, which took place the next day.

            Before that tale was fully told, however, Hatano interrupted himself and called Sakuma over.  He had finished with Miyoshi’s sponge bath and was ready to rebandage him, but first, wanted Sakuma to take a good look at the wound.

            “See how the edges are pink and fused?  The outer edges are scar tissue, which is good.  It’s been healing cleanly.  And should keep healing cleanly, as long as the wound isn’t exposed to any contaminants.  Which is why we’re keeping it covered, and changing the bandages regularly.  Also, pay attention to the color of his skin around the wound.  Pale, even, and all one color.  If you get more colors in there, that’s bad,” Hatano told Sakuma.  “Red streaks are a sign of infection.”

            “What about those blotches?” Sakuma asked worriedly, pointing toward some discoloring on the opposite side of Miyoshi’s chest.

            “Those are just old bruises.  Nothing we need to worry about now,” Hatano said, instantly setting Sakuma’s mind back at ease.

            He showed Sakuma how to wrap the bandages next, and then, finally covered Miyoshi back up with blankets, hiding the fact that the injured spy was naked in bed. 

            “Any further questions?” Hatano asked as he put away the roll of bandages.

            “No.  None that I can think of,” Sakuma said.

            “Well, if you think of any, just ask me next time you see me.  Or ask Miyoshi.  He’s got all the same answers I do,” Hatano said.  “We’ll have you try your hand at doing the bandages this evening.  Think you can do it?”

            Once, Sakuma would have only read challenge and contempt from Hatano in a question like that.  The smallest spy did love to goad, and challenge, and imply that people weren’t up to a challenge, to put them off their game or get inside their heads.  He was a bit surprised to find now that there was no challenge at all in Hatano’s question.  It was a simple question.  Like a professional instructor would ask of someone he was supposed to be teaching.  The word “professional” had never been one he’d ever thought described Hatano before but . . .  well, now it was.  Truth be told, if Sakuma was honest with himself, that word described just about everything Hatano had done since bringing Miyoshi home.  Maybe the brat was growing up.  At the very least he was rising to the occasion.  But . . . Sakuma had to ask himself why he would have ever thought Hatano wouldn’t.  Only the most elite, most capable men in Japan had made D-Agency’s final cut, after all.  Now Sakuma had to wonder if it was really Hatano who was changing, or just Sakuma’s perspective of him.  He would have liked to think it was a mixture of both, but . . . well, if he was still being honest, he had a feeling that it was more his perspective. 

            “I think so,” Sakuma answered.  “Your demonstration was very clear.  Thank you.”

            Hatano gave him an odd look at the rare compliment, then seemed to shrug it off.  He gathered Miyoshi’s breakfast then headed to the door.  “I’ll be back in a few hours with your lunches.  Your breakfast is still over there, Sakuma-san.  Please make sure you drink all your tea.”

            Left alone with Miyoshi, Sakuma wasn’t quite sure what to do.  He stood awkwardly where he was for a few moments, trying to think of something to say, or what he should be doing.

            “Sakuma-san?  You are going to eat your breakfast, aren’t you?  Or do you not feel well?” Miyoshi asked finally.

            “Oh!  Right!”  Sakuma didn’t need to be looking so hard for an excuse.  He seized the tray and took it over to his bed, then sat down and inspected his meal.  “This looks good.  It’s been a long time since we’ve had fish for breakfast.”

            “And Hatano’s cooking has improved,” Miyoshi commented.  “I think he can really give Fukumoto a run for his money now.”

            “Can he?” asked Sakuma.

            “You haven’t noticed?” Miyoshi returned.

            “Well, he doesn’t really cook much, except for Emma.  She’s a picky eater.  Only likes Western food.  Hatano mainly cooks just to appease her.”  Sakuma took a bite of the fish.  “But this is really good.  I think you’re probably right.”

            “What does Jitsui think about Hatano’s cooking these days?” asked Miyoshi.  “Anything?”

            “Hmm, I don’t think he really knows Hatano can cook like this now,” Sakuma said.  “He hasn’t been back long – oh, wait.  Hatano did cook dinner for him one day.  I think the day after he got back.  I guess he liked it.  He didn’t say anything about it.  That was the day before they went out on a day trip to Hakone.  At least it was supposed to be a day trip, but they ended up getting in a car wreck during a snowstorm.”

            “What?”

            Sakuma took another bite, then realized Miyoshi was waiting for more details about this.  He chewed quickly before answering.  “Someone hit them from behind and Jitsui couldn’t keep the car on the icy road.  The car was totaled, and Hatano and Jitsui were stranded for a couple days during the storm.  They holed up in a cave, then walked to the nearest town when the storm ended.  Lt. Colonel Yuuki sent Tazaki to find them as soon as the roads were open.  He met up with them, and brought them back, then immediately after, both Tazaki and Jitsui were sent to Manchuria to extract Odagiri.  They actually got home the day that Lt. Colonel Yuuki called them all in to extract you.  So I don’t think Jitsui had another chance to eat Hatano’s cooking.  Unless Hatano packed them a picnic lunch or something, for their trip to Hakone.”

            “How many days were the two of them missing?” Miyoshi asked.

            “Uhh . . . they were supposed to be back sometime on the night of the first day, but weren’t.  Then they were missing all the next day.  And I think it was the day after that when Tazaki found them.  So a full day, and an evening, and a morning?” Sakuma calculated.  “If you’re worried about Hatano in the car crash, I don’t think you need to be.  He and Jitsui both swear he didn’t hit his head.  Hatano might lie about that, but I don’t think Jitsui would.”

            “No,” Miyoshi agreed with certainty.  “Jitsui would never gamble with Hatano’s life like that.”

            “I don’t think so either,” said Sakuma, and he might have been just a little bit eager to share his observations about the two of theirs relationship, to show off to Miyoshi that he had good observation skills too.  “They’re best friends, after all.”

            Miyoshi’s eyes glinted with amusement.  “Yes.  Best friends.”

            “Why –”

            “Do try the miso soup.  It might just be me, because I’ve been away from Japan for so long, but I think this morning’s soup is particularly excellent.”

            Sakuma obeyed and found that he had to agree.  “If your jobs as spies abruptly end, at least Hatano and Fukumoto will have no trouble finding new jobs.  I think any upscale restaurant or ryokan would trip over itself to hire them as cooks.”

            A very dark look crossed Miyoshi’s face.

            “What?” Sakuma asked.  “What did I say wrong?”

            “Well . . . if a spy’s job as a spy ends abruptly, it’s usually not for a good reason, Sakuma-san,” Miyoshi said softly. 

            Sakuma grimaced as he realized how right Miyoshi was.  And how horrible a thing that had been to say in front of Miyoshi of all people.  Dammit.  It seemed like he always said the wrong things around Miyoshi.  “I’m sorry.  That was very . . . inconsiderate of me to say.”

            “Hmm.  Well, it’s probably better to think of all the ways they could use that talent to their advantage as spies,” Miyoshi said, smoothing it over.  Giving Sakuma an easy out for once.  “Cooking expertly is a skill that takes quite a bit of time to master.  Yuuki-san actually said himself that it would be easier for us to learn new languages than learn to impersonate professional chefs.  After you learn enough languages you sort of . . . learn the language of learning languages.  It makes picking up new ones much easier.  But for cooking, every ingredient reacts differently to being cut a certain way, or being cooked a certain way.  Meats have to cook at different temperatures, or for different amounts of time, to be safe to eat, but if you take them too far, you ruin them.  Different flavors and spices go together well, but adding one wrong thing can take it from delicious to disaster.”

            “I guess there are no easy ways or shortcuts to learn some things,” Sakuma said.

            “Nope,” Miyoshi agreed.  “Not even for men who can assemble dozens of different firearms and radios blindfolded.”

            “I . . . er . . .” Sakuma knew it was his turn to keep the conversation going, and it had been going so well.  At least he thought it had been.  He didn’t want to let it die out, but he couldn’t think of something intelligent to say.  “Hatano has been making a lot of fancy little sweet things lately.”

            “Hm?”

            “Fancy little dessert things,” Sakuma said.  “I don’t know what all they are.  He learned them overseas.  Little cakes and cookie sandwiches, and puffed up breads with sauces on top or inside.  I think . . . I think Lt. Colonel Yuuki has been asking him to, to learn just what Hatano is capable of, because Hatano always takes some to Lt. Colonel Yuuki to try.  Do you think Lt. Colonel Yuuki is planning to have him put that talent to use?”

            Sakuma knew that the spies liked speculating about what Yuuki was up to.  And what the others were up to.  He was pleased that Miyoshi seemed pleased to be given this knowledge.

            “There are quite a few ways Yuuki-san could put a talent like that to use,” Miyoshi said.  Then he proceeded to start explaining some, giving Sakuma a chance to eat his breakfast as Miyoshi talked. 

            Miyoshi had a very nice voice.  Sakuma had always . . . . well, almost always thought so.  Masculine, without being too deep.  Smooth and even, and very clear.  Even when he was talking about poisoning chocolate, or lacing pastry creams with sedatives, he still made it sound very nice and appealing. 

            When Sakuma finished his breakfast, he stacked his dishes and put the tray aside.  He felt a little bad that he couldn’t wash them himself, and wished now that he had found more ways to help out around D-Agency before being quarantined in here with Miyoshi, but there was nothing he could do to change that now.  All he could do was the job he’d been given – to take care of Miyoshi.  Which included keeping him from going out of his mind with boredom.  Hatano had been very clear on that point.  Sakuma could understand why.  Things never turned out well when the spies were bored.

            So, after Sakuma was finished with his breakfast, and Miyoshi was finished with talking about poisoning desserts, they played shogi.  Or rather, Miyoshi gave Sakuma another shogi lesson.  This time, he had Sakuma set up the board by himself, and Sakuma was very pleased with himself for being able to set it up perfectly.  Then, Miyoshi had him verbally review each piece and all the moves they could make, and the only mistake Sakuma made there was mixing up two of the pieces’ move sets.  And then, instead of actually playing his first real game, Miyoshi had Sakuma do some situational practice.

            He had Sakuma move the pieces around on the board, to simulate an actual game in process, and then told him which color he was playing and had him make a move.  Then he and Sakuma evaluated Sakuma’s choice together. 

            At first, Sakuma made a lot of bad moves.  But Miyoshi explained to him what he’d done wrong and helped him realize that he needed to not just be thinking about what his opponent would do next, but what he would do after his opponent moved, and what his opponent would do after that move.  They continued that exercise for about an hour.  By the end of it, Sakuma was making much better moves.  Still, not all the right choices, but Miyoshi seemed pleased with the progress he’d made. 

            After that, they took a break for a bit.  Miyoshi read from one of the books Hatano had left for him the previous day.  Sakuma did a bit of the paperwork he’d brought with him into quarantine.  Then, they picked up with shogi again.  And this time, they played an actual game.  Well, games.  Multiple ones.  Because while top tier shogi players might have matches that lasted for hours, Sakuma could not.  Miyoshi beat him every time.  The first few times, very soundly, and very, very quickly.

            “There are players who will use these strategies,” Miyoshi told him solemnly, rather than mockingly.  “They go directly for the kill, in as few moves as possible.  While some eschew them as being cheap and underhanded, that doesn’t change the fact that they are perfectly legal strategies.  So, you need to learn them so you can be on guard against them being used on you.”

            “I understand,” Sakuma said.  “This . . . seems like the sort of strategy that other people who live in this house might try against me.”

            “Yes.  Hatano especially, because he’s such a cheap little brat,” Miyoshi said matter of factly.

            “Lies!  He’s only saying that because he sees me standing right here, Sakuma-san.  Don’t believe him,” said Hatano, startling Sakuma into knocking several pieces off the board. 

            “You’re back here so soon?” asked Sakuma.  “Is everything alright?”

            “It’s like one in the afternoon now,” said Hatano, raising an eyebrow.  “Lunchtime.”

            And he was holding a tray of food, which he quickly set down, and collected Sakuma’s used breakfast dishes. 

            “Oh.  I guess . . . I didn’t notice how quickly the time had passed,” Sakuma said, hoping he didn’t sound too dim.

            “You were having that much fun playing shogi?” asked Hatano.  Not mockingly for once.  At least, Sakuma didn’t think he was being mocking.  But there was an ironic lilt to his voice and his eyes sparked with mischief.

            “You doubt my ability to teach and make it interesting?” Miyoshi challenged.

            “Let’s not pretend it’s the shogi he finds interesting,” said Hatano.

            “What do you mean?” asked Sakuma.  “What else would be interesting?”

            “Hm, I wonder.”  Hatano was definitely smirking behind his mask.  “But, as fun as it would be to stay and guess, I have other things to do.  Do you both have everything you need?”

            “Yes,” Miyoshi said, “but how is Yuuki-san?”

            Hatano shrugged.  “Hard to say.  He still has a fever, but not a dangerously high one.  Still has a cough, which is more troublesome.  But I think a full night’s sleep did him good.  He’s trying to overwork himself again, and arguing with me about everything, so I think he’s gonna be fine.  So long as we can keep you from catching it, we’re good.”

            “And if we can keep you from catching it too, we’ll be even better,” said Miyoshi.  “Dry your hair, Hatano.”

            “It’s fine.”

            “It’s not.  Especially if you’re showering multiple times a day and not drying it,” said Miyoshi.  “You’ll dry out your scalp, damage your hair, and make yourself sick.”

            “I’m doing the best I can, Miyoshi.  But it’s just me here, and there’s not enough time for everything that needs to be done,” said Hatano, a strained note in his voice.  “I have to cut corners where I can.”

            “Not there,” Miyoshi insisted.  “Sakuma and I can skip a meal if need be –”

            “No.  You need food if you’re going to heal.”

            “Then please find something else to skip instead of drying your hair.  If only because I am going to harass you about it every time I see you with wet hair,” Miyoshi told him.

            “Which is another reason not to stay here long,” Hatano said, edging toward the door.  “Aside from limiting you to whatever pathogens I could be carrying.  So on that note, I will depart.”

            “Hatano –”

            “Yes, yes.  I’ll do better,” Hatano said on his way out.  “Can’t have you tattling to Fukumama on me when he gets home.  Or Yuuki-san when you’re better.”

            The door clicked shut behind him.  Sakuma stood and walked toward the table beside the door where he’d left the food.  Two smaller trays were on the larger one, both with identical meals.

            “Looks like we get rice, tamagoyaki, and grated radish,” Sakuma said.  “I guess Hatano remembered your favorites.”

            “Yes.  That’s not surprising.  We all have exceptional memories and – dammit Hatano!”

            “What?” Sakuma asked, alarmed, almost dropping Miyoshi’s tray into the injured spy’s lap.

            “The grated radish,” Miyoshi said, glowering at it.

            “What’s wrong with it?” Sakuma asked.  Then, after taking a good look at it, “Oh.”

            Hatano had shaped the pile of grated radish into the shape of a cat, and used dried seaweed to give it eyes, whiskers, and a stripe running down from the top of its head.


	8. Chapter 8

            Hatano was exhausted by the time he finally went to bed.  His day had started early and had been filled with so many tasks.  Taking care of a sick man, an injured man who would probably die if he caught what the sick man had come down with, and a lively little girl was almost more than he could handle, especially since he had to shower after every time he came in contact with Yuuki-san, and before he came in contact with Miyoshi, to try to prevent the spread of germs. 

            He had to explain to Emma what was going on.  He made her understand that she couldn’t visit Yuuki-san or Miyoshi right now, because she might catch what Yuuki-san had, and they needed to keep Miyoshi safe from any sickness.  And he came up with a contingency plan for if he himself got sick and couldn’t fix meals for Emma, Miyoshi, and Sakuma.  He and Emma spent the afternoon baking loaves of bread, some pastries that would keep decently well, and some cookies.  Then they packed a picnic basket for Emma, with a bunch of the goodies in, as well as some canteens of water, so that if Hatano failed to come and get breakfast for her, she could take the picnic basket back to her room, and have picnics and tea parties with her stuffed animals and dolls for a few days, until Hatano or Yuuki-san were better.  And Hatano also made some egg sandwiches, which he left on the lowest shelf of the ice box for her, so she wouldn’t be eating just sweets and carbs.

            But in the end, that turned out to be a moot point.  Because when Hatano went to wake her up for breakfast the next morning, he found her burning with a fever and crying for her papa.

            “I’m sorry, Emma-chan,” Hatano told her.  “Papa’s on his way home, but he still has a long way to travel.”

            Emma just whimpered then, and tried to hide under her blankets.  Hatano let her, but sat by her for some time, just so she wouldn’t feel like she was both sick and alone.  Now and then she would ask him a question, as though she was checking to make sure Hatano was still there.  Hatano did his best to answer her questions, and say comforting things.  After she drifted off to sleep, Hatano removed the covers from her face so she could breathe more easily.  Then he went to check on Yuuki.

            “What has happened?” Yuuki asked immediately, as soon as Hatano entered his room, even though Hatano was wearing a medical mask now, so the lower part of his face was hidden.

            “Emma-chan’s sick now too,” Hatano told him.  He wondered if his eyes looked that dejected, or if Yuuki-san had read his worry from his posture as well. 

            “That is unfortunate.”  Yuuki’s voice was hoarse.  He had coughed a lot yesterday.  So today his breakfast tray contained something to help with that.  Hatano set the tray down beside Yuuki’s bed and lifted the cup of tea first.  He held it out to his boss.

            “Honey lemon tea,” Hatano told him.  “It’s great for sore throats.  My landlord’s mother made it for me in France, when I caught a cold.”

            “No medicinal blend this morning?” Yuuki asked dryly.

            Hatano shook his head.  “I thought I’d give you a break from that and try to give you some relief from one of the symptoms of your illness.  Though if you’d prefer a cup of one of Fukumoto’s blends instead . . .”

            Yuuki gave him a dry look and took a sip from the cup. 

            “I haven’t gone to see Miyoshi and Sakuma-san yet, this morning,” Hatano told him.  “I was going to before I came to check on you, but then Emma turned out to be sick.  I figured it made more sense to see to you first, then I’ll shower, then see to Miyoshi.”

            Yuuki gave a curt nod.

            “Are you feeling any better?  Any worse?” Hatano asked.

            “Perhaps slightly better,” Yuuki said.

            “Perhaps?  But perhaps not?”

            “I only just woke up,” Yuuki said, perhaps with a bit of irritation in his voice.

            Hatano shrugged and did his best to appear unconcerned.  And like this wasn’t extremely weird and slightly unsettling, being in Yuuki-san’s bedroom, and seeing Yuuki-san in sleep clothes.  Before two days ago, Hatano had never seen Yuuki dressed down so much.  He hadn’t even really known Yuuki owned sleepwear.  Honestly, he’d kind of thought Yuuki probably slept in his suits.  Well, he had seen Yuuki wearing sleep clothes on the voyage home, on the Hakusan Maru, but that had been different.  Yuuki had been playing a role then.  This, this was real, and it kind of made Hatano uncomfortable, seeing Yuuki-san looking so human.  Being vulnerable for the first time ever, because of this illness.  It just seemed fundamentally wrong for Yuuki to be sick.

            “This tea is good,” Yuuki said gruffly, as Hatano brought over the rest of his breakfast tray.  “Did you make this blend?”

            “Yes,” Hatano told him, smiling behind his mask.  “It’s got dried lemon peel mixed in with the tea leaves.  I thought it would be good if anyone got sick with a sore throat this winter.  I didn’t expect . . . a lot of things.”  
            “The unexpected always happens.  What matters most is your ability to adapt.”  Maybe it was Hatano’s imagination, but it sounded like Yuuki-san’s voice was a little clearer after drinking some of his tea.  “You already know this, Hatano.”

            “Yes,” Hatano agreed.  “I’ve always been good at thinking on my feet.  Just this morning, I learned how to talk down a sick child who misses her papa, and how to blend sedatives in tea so even my spymaster can’t detect them.”

            He smirked behind his mask, knowing Yuuki would be able to read the expression just from his eyes.  But the look on Yuuki’s face, morphing from blatant shock, to suspicion, to disbelief, then back to suspicion, it just made Hatano lose control and start snickering.

            “You are the cheekiest brat I’ve ever taught,” Yuuki told him, taking another sip of the tea.  Proving that he knew Hatano had not laced it with sleeping agents.

            “I had you wondering there for a second,” Hatano told him.

            “No.  You didn’t.”

            “I did,” insisted Hatano.

            “No.  I’m well aware that you don’t have it in you to lace my drink with anything that you think will bring down my ire upon you.”

            Hatano beamed.  “Is that your way of saying you trust me, Yuuki-san?”

            Then Yuuki-san laughed.  Just one short, strained bark of laughter, that quickly gave way to several coughs, but it was unmistakable. 

            Hatano grabbed Yuuki’s hands around his teacup, keeping them steady so that none of his tea spilled on his blankets, or on Yuuki himself.

            “Sorry, Yuuki-san.  I didn’t mean to make you laugh.”

            “You didn’t,” Yuuki told him, once he had regained control of himself.

            “Didn’t mean to,” Hatano said with a nod.

            “Make me laugh,” Yuuki tried to correct.

            “We know each other so well now,” Hatano said glibly.  “We’re even finishing each other’s sentences.”

            “We’re not –” Yuuki started

            “Finishing each other’s sentences,” Hatano agreed along with him.  “You see?”

            Yuuki glowered.  But it was a good natured glower.  There was a spark of _something_ in his eyes that made Hatano feel inexplicably happy and warm.

            “There’s more tea,” Hatano said, and it was funny to watch how fast Yuuki’s sour expression melted away.  “I brought you the whole pot.”  It was a small teapot, but Hatano could see the gesture was very welcome.  He refilled Yuuki’s cup, then uncovered his breakfast.  Today’s breakfast was a simple one.  Just rice and miso soup.  Miyoshi and Sakuma were getting a small dish of pickled vegetables with their meal, but Hatano had seen how Yuuki’s face had turned a bit green the previous day when he’d been faced with those, so today those were omitted. 

            “I should shower and go see to Miyoshi and Sakuma before they get too worried,” Hatano said, “but is there anything else I can do for you first?”

            “No.  I have all that I require,” Yuuki told him.

            So Hatano gave him a deep nod that could have almost counted as a bow, and retreated to the door.

            “Hatano.”

            Hatano twisted around to look back.

            “Your first priority right now needs to be Miyoshi’s health.  Which, by default, means your own.”

            Hatano nodded.  “I understand.”

            “I will say it in as many words anyway: Take care of yourself.”

            “Yes sir.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            “In here are loaves of bread,” Hatano explained to Miyoshi and Sakuma, after putting down their breakfast trays.  “A knife to cut the bread with, and some oil to dip the bread in, since butter doesn’t keep as well outside of the ice box, and plain bread is just kind of meh unless it’s hot.  I’ve also got a box of rations.  D-Agency rations, so the stuff that wasn’t immediately ready to eat has been sorted out.  If I suddenly stop showing up to bring you meals, then you assume that I’m sick, and stay in here, and eat these.”

            “What happened?” asked Miyoshi.  Because Hatano was speaking with a sense of urgency.  “Has Yuuki-san gotten worse?”

            “No,” said Hatano.  “It’s possible that he might be slightly better.  But only slightly.  And now Emma is sick.

            It was on the tip of Miyoshi’s tongue to criticize Hatano for having damp hair yet again, but he bit that comment back.  Hatano knew he should dry his hair.  And right now he was stressed enough.  Miyoshi didn’t want to nag him at a time like this.

            Hatano seemed to guess what he was thinking anyway.  “I’ll dry my hair as soon as I leave here.  Really.  I just wanted to get you your breakfast before you started to think something was really wrong.  But since I’m here, we should change your bandages and check your wound.”

            He had Sakuma remove the bandages this time, and though he checked the wound himself, had Sakuma give his assessment of it.

            “I think it looks a little better than yesterday?” said Sakuma uncertainly.  “There’s more skin that looks fused.  Everything’s nice and pink.  And there’s no colors in the skin around the wound that shouldn’t be there?  Right?”

            “Right,” said Hatano.  “If you ever have any doubts about what you’re seeing, and I’m not available, you can use one of those mirrors and have Miyoshi take a look for himself.”

            “What if he’s feverish or unconscious though?” asked Sakuma.

            “Then you put him in the car and take him to the hospital, because something will definitely be wrong,” said Hatano.  “This is assuming I’m not able to help, though.  If I can come see him, I might be able to give him some medicines and keep him here.  It would depend on what’s wrong though, and what he would need.  But hopefully it won’t come to that.”

            “I think I can forgo a complete sponge bath today,” Miyoshi said.  Because he would rather Hatano go and dry his hair immediately, and it wasn’t like he had exerted himself at all yesterday.  He hadn’t done more than sit up in bed, and lay back down, and even that had been with Hatano’s and Sakuma’s assistance.

            Hatano nodded his assent.  “I’ll give you a full sponge bath tomorrow, but for today, let’s just wash your chest.  Actually, Sakuma-san, would you be willing to learn –”

            “Yes,” Sakuma said immediately.  “I’ll help.  I’ll give him a full sponge bath if that’s what you need me to do.”

            “Not today,” said Hatano, clearly smirking behind his mask, “but your eagerness is noted.”

            Sakuma stuttered.  “I just don’t want you to think I won’t do what needs to be done.”

            “Of course,” said Hatano.  “What did you think I meant?”

            There was a bit more interesting sputtering, then Hatano instructed on Sakuma how to fill the water basin, and get the water just the slightest bit soapy, and the right temperature: warm enough to easily wash away the oils from his skin, and dead skin cells.  Then he had Sakuma wring out the washcloths they were using, getting enough water out so that they were wet but not dripping, and it was Sakuma who sponged clean Miyoshi’s chest that day.

            His touches were gentle, but tentatively so.  He lacked the confidence that Hatano, or any other man of D-Agency would have used, and Hatano had to urge him to use more pressure, to make sure he got Miyoshi’s skin clean.  But the experience wasn’t unenjoyable, and was over much too soon. 

            Under Hatano’s supervision, Sakuma was the one who rebandaged Miyoshi’s wound too.  He managed to accomplish the task on his first try, without even slight criticism from Hatano or any corrections.  Then Hatano took his leave.

            “I’ll be back in a few hours with your lunch,” he told them.  “Which you better enjoy.  It will be your last hot lunch for awhile.  Starting tomorrow, I’ll be bringing your breakfast and lunch at the same time.  To limit the number of times I expose you to the rest of the house’s germs.  And the number of times Miyoshi nags me about my hair.”

            “Speaking of hair,” Miyoshi cut in before Hatano could leave, “How long do you estimate it will be before I can wash mine?”

            “You mean in the showers?  Not for awhile,” answered Hatano. 

            “Yuuki-san has his own shower,” Miyoshi said.  “So the communal showers shouldn’t be contaminated.”

            Sakuma was the one to counter that.  “Emma bathes in the communal showers too.  We fill a tub with water for her there and let her splash around in it.”

            “Then it would only be her tub that is contaminated, no?”

            “If a sick person goes into the room at all, we need to consider it contaminated,” Hatano said.

            “But has she gone in there since she came down with the illness?”

            “No.  But she bathed yesterday night, before bed, and could have been contagious then.  It’s probably better not to risk it yet.”

            Miyoshi wanted to argue.  The risk was minimal.  He knew it.  And he knew Hatano knew this as well.  But for now, he decided to let it go.  Even though his hair was thick with oils, and his scalp was starting to feel positively disgusting.

            “I’ll wash your hair for you tomorrow when I give you a full sponge bath,” Hatano offered as a compromise. 

            “Yes please.  Also, do you think it is alright for me to start lifting my hands above my chest?”

            Uncertainty flickered in Hatano’s eyes.  “I . . . I think it probably is.  But right now isn’t the time to be taking risks.  So . . . will you wait until tomorrow to do so?  And then only very occasionally?”

            “Alright,” Miyoshi conceded, as innocently as he could.

            Suspicion flickered in Hatano’s eyes and he looked sharply at Sakuma.  “You watch him and make sure, alright?”

            “Alright,” Sakuma readily agreed.

            “You don’t trust me?” Miyoshi asked, with an artful widening of his eyes.

            “No.  Because I know you,” said Hatano.  “And you’ve got the look you get in your eyes when you’re planning something.”

            “Your accusations wound me,” Miyoshi told him gravely.

            “Maybe I should get Yoru to keep an eye on you, and make sure you stay in line,” Hatano mused.

            “You can’t and you know it.  A cat in an infirmary?  Yuuki-san would be so mad.”

            “Why?  He lets you in here.”

            Miyoshi glowered.  Hatano laughed.

            “Shouldn’t you be going to dry your hair?” Miyoshi asked, redirecting the topic of their conversation to regain the upper hand.  Because trying to argue that he was not a cat, or even cat-like was a losing battle with the other men of D-Agency.

            _“Me?”_ asked Hatano, switching languages. _“Ow, changing the subject like that must really hurt.”_

            “Puns?  Really, Hatano?”

            _“In English_ nya _less,”_ Hatano said smirking behind his mask.  Miyoshi knew his expression so well just from his eyes.

            “Just leave already,” Miyoshi told him.

            Hatano suddenly grew solemn.  And switched back to speaking in Japanese.  “I’m serious though.  Don’t do anything to put yourself at risk, Miyoshi.  I’m trying really hard to keep all contaminants away from you, and keep you on the path to healing.  If you reopen that wound, you open yourself up to infection, again.  If you catch a cough, you could very well die.  Don’t make all our risks for nothing.  You owe us that much.”

            “I know,” said Miyoshi.  “But you don’t need to worry.  I’m not going to take any stupid risks.”

            The risks he was planning to take were a bit indulgent.  But not stupid.  The danger was minimal, or else Miyoshi wouldn’t be planning it at all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Miyoshi wanted a shower. 

            Sakuma couldn’t blame him.  Sponge baths seemed awkward and embarrassing as hell, both for the one being given one, and the one bathing the other. 

            “There is a chair in the closet beside the bathroom room, for this exact purpose,” Miyoshi explained.  “You can set it under the shower head, then set me on it, and I can have a shower, and get properly clean, without having to trouble Hatano further.”

            “But he said he didn’t think you should risk being in the bathroom that Emma used,” Sakuma said.  “He was very clear on that point.”

            “I’m also at risk of other pathogens if I don’t get clean,” said Miyoshi.

            “But Hatano has been sponge bathing you.  He said he’d give you another one tomorrow morning, and he’ll clean your hair too,” Sakuma reminded him.

            “And I am grateful for his offer.  But remember what Hatano looks like whenever he comes down here,” Miyoshi appealed to Sakuma.  “He’s far more stressed out than he should be.  I mean, with the situation he’s in, it’s understandable, but he has far too much on his plate is what I mean.  He’s taking care of a sick child, and Yuuki-san, who, if we’re honest, is probably worse than a sick child.  At least Hatano can order Emma-chan to rest.  He can’t do that to Yuuki-san.  He is probably worried sick about both of them, and me.  And on top of all of this, he’s charged with the run of the house.  Keeping the fireplace stoked.  Preparing all of our meals.  And he has to shower every time before he enters the infirmary.  He hasn’t taken the time to dry his hair once yet.  So tomorrow, he’ll be sponge bathing me while his own hair is wet, chilling himself, and lowering his already vulnerable immune system even more . . . or you could help me into the wheelchair and wheel me up to the showers, so that I can wash myself tonight, get myself cleaner than he would have gotten me with a sponge bath, and keep him from having to give me a sponge bath tomorrow, and put his own health at risk in the process.”

            Sakuma was on the fence.

            “The only other way I can think of to spare Hatano that strain is for you to be the one who gives me a sponge bath.”

            “I . . . I can if I have to,” said Sakuma, and he could tell that his answer surprised Miyoshi.  He’d probably expected Sakuma to cave immediately at the prospect of having to wipe down his whole naked body with wash clothes.  Make no mistake, the mere idea terrified Sakuma for reasons he couldn’t say . . . but at the same time, he felt something else about the idea.  Something he didn’t have words for.  And besides . . . he’d told himself that he would do whatever he needed to contribute here at D-Agency, in their hour of crisis.  “Do . . . do you want me to?”

            Miyoshi’s expression was unreadable, but he made up Sakuma’s mind with one final question.  “Do you really think you would do as good a job as I could do with just five minutes under the shower faucet?”

            “Alright,” Sakuma finally decided.  “I’ll take you there.”

            It was night now.  Hours after Hatano had brought them their dinner.  Most likely Hatano was already asleep, or so Miyoshi had predicted.  Sakuma agreed.  Hatano had to be exhausted, considering everything that he had to do.  Sakuma had been exhausted at the end of day when he’d only had to maintain the house’s upkeep and take care of Emma.  What Hatano had to do had to be infinitely more exhausting.

            So Sakuma helped Miyoshi into the wheelchair, and rolled him out of the infirmary, carefully shutting the door behind them so that Yoru wouldn’t decide to take a stroll inside while they were gone.  Then he wheeled Miyoshi to the stairs.  Then, carefully up the stairs, after strapping Miyoshi into the chair.  It was tricky, but Miyoshi was fairly lightweight, and Sakuma was strong.  He might only be a liaison now, but he did his best to stay in good physical shape in case the time ever came when Lt. Colonel Yuuki’s influence failed, and he was sent to the front to fight.

            Once they reached the top of the stairs, Sakuma wheeled Miyoshi through the hall, as quietly as he could, and into the bathroom.  But once they were inside, Sakuma found reason to pause.  Something wasn’t quite right.  Naturally, Miyoshi realized it before him.

            “Oh,” he said, his tone quite rueful.  “Hatano was expecting this.”

            “What?  How?  Why do you think that?”

            “Don’t you smell the cleaning chemicals?” Miyoshi asked.

            Then Sakuma realized what had been out of place.  The showers were always clean.  The men of D-Agency kept their living spaces very near immaculate.  But they tended to clean a little bit here and a little bit there, only a little bit at a time, as things reached the point where they needed to be cleaned.  But tonight, it looked and smelled as though the entire bathroom had been disinfected all at once.  All the shower handles were mirror bright, all the mineral deposits from the water scrubbed away, leaving only the scent of cleaning chemicals lingering heavily in the air.

            “Why – then why didn’t he stop us?” asked Sakuma.

            Miyoshi’s expression was . . . odd.  Similar to how it had been that time outside Yuuki’s office, right after the Gordon incident.  He looked like he’d made a mistake and was regretting it.  “He probably judged that it would be less effort to disinfect everything than to wait around for us to attempt this and stop us.”

            “Miyoshi?  Are you alright?”

            Miyoshi nodded. 

            “You look upset . . . ?”

            Miyoshi hesitated, then shook his head.  “It’s nothing.  And we shouldn’t linger longer than we have to.  Can you wheel me over to the shower, where Hatano was kind enough to set up that chair for me?”

            Sakuma was about to comply when the door creaked open behind him.  He couldn’t keep a sheepish expression off his face as he twisted around to face Hatano . . . who it turned out was not there.  Emma, however, was.

            “Emma . . .”

            “Hatano-nii?” Emma asked, sounding miserable and hoarse, as she tried to peer around them, as though expecting Hatano to be there.  Then she coughed.  Without covering her mouth with a handkerchief, or even her hand.

            “Emma, Hatano’s not here,” Sakuma said.  “You . . . you can’t be here right now.”

            “I heard voices.  I thought Hatano-nii was here . . .” Emma just sounded too pathetic to really be mad at.  But she was a clear and present danger to Miyoshi’s health, and Sakuma had to get her out of there before she coughed anymore or got closer to Miyoshi.  Hopefully she’d been far enough away when she coughed that her germs wouldn’t reach Miyoshi.  Sakuma tried to motion her toward the door, but since when did Emma ever do anything he said?  “Where is Hatano-nii?”

            “Not here, Emma.  You have to leave,” Sakuma said urgently.  “Get out please.”

            “Where’s Hatano-nii?” Emma demanded, sounding cranky and sick.

            “Not here.  Now please get out!”

            “I want Hatano-nii!”

            “You can’t be near Miyoshi, Emma, you’ll make him sick too.”

            “Sakuma-san,” said Miyoshi.  “I think it might be best if you removed her and went to fetch Hatano.  Then took a shower yourself too.”

            “Right,” said Sakuma.  He walked forward and picked Emma up, prepared for kicking and screaming.

            He was not prepared for her to vomit on him, as though she’d been waiting for him to pick her up so she could do just that.  He nearly dropped her in shock and disgust as he felt the warm liquid seeping down his neck and chest, through his shirt.

            Then the door opened again, and there stood Hatano, in his sleep clothes, with mussed hair.  The look on his face was pure confusion for about five seconds.  Much longer than it should have taken him to process the situation, but there was no question that Hatano was suffering from exhaustion.  He blinked several times, then seemed to realize what was going on.  Once he did, he strode into the room, toward Miyoshi, and grabbed the handles of the wheelchair, pushing him away from Sakuma, and Emma, who had started to cry for Hatano.

            “Clean her and yourself up, Sakuma-san,” Hatano ordered.  “Under the shower.  Leave your clothes on the floor.  And try to calm her down.  I’ll be back in a minute.”  Then he wheeled Miyoshi out of the bathroom, leaving Sakuma holding a crying, screaming child.

 


	9. Chapter 9

            “I’m sorry.”  Words one did not hear very often from Miyoshi.  Hatano wished he had a witness for this rare apology . . . but now was not the time to make light of the situation, really.

            “This wasn’t your fault,” Hatano said, as he spun the wheelchair around so Miyoshi was facing the hall they’d come from, and began carefully wheeling him backwards down the stairs, one step at a time.  “No one could have predicted that would happen.”

            “No.  But it still happened.  And I am sorry.  For my miscalculations adding to your burdens,” said Miyoshi. 

            Hatano sighed.  “Well, it’s not like I didn’t know what you were probably going to try.  And I didn’t try to stop you.  Or factor Emma into the equation either.  So it’s on me as much as it’s on you.”

            “I hope you don’t really believe that,” Miyoshi told him. 

            “It’s on Sakuma-san too,” Hatano said, trying to force humor into his voice.  “He’s the one who enabled you.  And now he’s going to be helping take care of Emma.  You know he can’t come back into quarantine now.”

            “Yes,” Miyoshi said regretfully.

            Because since Sakuma had been directly exposed to Emma’s germs, in one of the worst possible ways, it was very possible that he’d just been infected.  Since it likely took a day or two for the disease to actually kick in, he could become contagious before the actual symptoms set in and not realize it.  They couldn’t have him in the infirmary, sleeping next to Miyoshi, breathing the same air constantly, even if they gave him a mask.  If he came down with the disease, that meant contamination in the infirmary.

            But on the bright side, since he’d already been exposed to Emma’s germs, it meant that he could help out with her. Though that might not be the best option . . . Hatano would give it some thought and decide in the morning.

            Hatano and Miyoshi didn’t talk more as Hatano wheeled him back to the infirmary.  Not until it came time to lift him out of the chair and onto his bed, and then it was just simple instructions.  He had Miyoshi place his hands over his wound, to keep the skin around it from stretching, and lifted him carefully, pulling first the top half of his body onto the bed, then hoisting his legs up onto it too, then moving Miyoshi so he was lying straight in bed, rather than at an awkward slant. 

            Then . . .

            “Hatano?”

            “It’s going to be fine, Miyoshi,” Hatano said as he covered his friend with blankets.  “It’s not like Yuuki-san and Emma have the plague.  The only one we have to absolutely keep from catching it is you.  Both of them will probably be fine in a few days.  Sakuma-san too, if he even actually caught it.  He probably didn’t.  I don’t think any of her throw up got on his face, and his immune system should be plenty strong.”

            Miyoshi looked like he didn’t really know what to say.  Hatano could guess why.  Miyoshi wasn’t used to screwing up.  Especially not as what he perceived as this badly.   

            So Hatano smirked and patted him on the head.  “There, there.  Everything’s going to be alright.”

            That got a scowl out of Miyoshi.

            “You know, it just occurred to me that if I got you a collar with a little bell, you wouldn’t be able to take it off,” said Hatano.

            “I can move my hands above my chest now.  You said so yourself,” Miyoshi said, glaring.

            “But only when it’s necessary.  And even then, you shouldn’t be reaching higher than you have to.”

            “Removing a cat collar would be necessary,” Miyoshi said flatly.

            “Says you.  I disagree.  What would Yuuki-san say, I wonder?”

            “Probably to stop tormenting your patient,” Miyoshi sniped.  Then added, “Brat.”

            “Yep,” Hatano agreed readily. 

 

* * *

 

 

            Sakuma was standing almost exactly the way Hatano had left him.  Surprise, surprise.  The only real difference was that he had moved to stand under one of the shower heads.  Emma was still screaming and crying, and when she saw Hatano, she started screaming and crying harder, and kicking and flailing.

            Hatano sighed and fought down the urge to shake his head.  He grabbed the small metal tub from where he’d moved it to a corner of the shower room, after disinfecting it, and dragged it over to where Sakuma was standing. 

            “Move,” he ordered the lieutenant.  Because the water from that faucet had been on for awhile, and had to be at least cool by now, if not lukewarm.  Water from another showerhead would start off frigid.

            Sakuma moved.

            Hatano put the tub down so that the shower water would flow into it, then held out his hands for Emma.  “Give her here.”

            Sakuma readily obeyed.

            Hatano set Emma down in the tub.  “Hush, Emma . . . don’t cry.  I’ll clean you up.  Now, can you raise your hands for me?  High above your head?”

            Emma obeyed and Hatano pulled her nightgown off, up over her head.  He set it aside, between the tub and the wall where the shower heads were.  Then he helped Emma out of her panties and had her sit down in the tub as it filled up.

            “You need to get your contaminated clothes off too, Lieutenant,” Hatano reminded him, because Sakuma was just standing there, looking stunned.  “Now, please.”

            Sakuma took off his shirt, but only his shirt. 

            “For fuck’s sake!” Hatano snapped, losing his temper for the first time since this whole mess had started.  “She’s barely more than a toddler.  She doesn’t care about seeing you naked!”

            Snapping was a mistake.  Emma started crying again, thinking he was mad at her.

            “Shhh.  It’s alright Emma.  Don’t worry, Hatano-nii’s not mad at you.”  Hatano patted her head comfortingly.  She was more appreciative of the gesture than Miyoshi had been.  Then, in more calm tones, he spoke to Sakuma again.  “You need to get out of those contaminated clothes, Sakuma-san.  And all of them are contaminated now, not just your shirt.  If it makes you feel better, I’ll keep Emma’s back to you.  So please, hurry up and get showered.  Every second that you waste, you increase your chances of getting sick.”

            Finally, Sakuma started moving, stripping off his pants and underwear, and getting under another shower head, though he sent wary glances Hatano and Emma’s way the whole time.

            But Hatano was true to his word.  He kept Emma seated so that her back was to Sakuma, to spare the lieutenant the shame of having his naked body seen by a child.  And he got Emma calmed down, so she had stopped crying, and got her to talk to him.

            She had woken up and felt bad, and so she was going to find him.  But she heard voices in the bathroom and thought he must be in there with someone else.  Maybe Papa, finally come home.  Or Uncle Tazaki, or Uncle Kaminaga, or Uncle Fukumoto.  But it had been stupid Sakuma, who she hated, and Miyoshi, who she didn’t really know, and she didn’t understand why they’d been here when Hatano said Miyoshi wasn’t allowed anywhere but the infirmary.  She wanted to ask Hatano, but then Sakuma had grabbed her and then she’d thrown up on him.  Thankfully, she didn’t feel like she had to throw up anymore, but her throat hurt worse now, and there was nothing Hatano could really do to help with that.  He knew better than to give someone who had just thrown up too much to drink.

            Emma usually liked long baths.  She liked splashing in the water, and playing with a few toys they had gotten for her.  But tonight she just wanted to go back to bed.  Hatano was grateful for that.  He wanted to go back to bed too.  He couldn’t afford to be struck down by head injury induced exhaustion.  He was happy when after only a few minutes of Emma being in the water, he was able to grab a towel (and a spare one for Sakuma, who he decided to take pity on) and dry Emma off, and get her back to her room.

            “Go downstairs and sit by the fire until your hair is dry, Lieutenant,” Hatano ordered Sakuma when he tossed him the extra towel.  “Then go to the dorm and get some sleep.”

            “But – what –” Sakuma seemed confused.

            “What?  You thought you were going back in quarantine with Miyoshi?  Nah ah,” Hatano told him.  “You were directly exposed to the illness.”

            “But I’m not sick yet,” Sakuma protested.

            “You can be contagious before you show the symptoms of illness,” Hatano told him as he wrapped Emma up in her towel, and picked her up, to take her back to her room.  “And the last thing we want is you waking up sick in the infirmary.  Next to Miyoshi.  You’re banned from the infirmary for now, Lieutenant.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be,” Hatano told him, as he carried Emma out the door.  Because as much fun as it would have been to toy with Sakuma over this, Hatano didn’t need him wallowing in guilt, and increasing his chances of getting sick.  “This is on all three of us.  And we’ll deal with it.  I’ll see you in the dorm in a bit.  If you’re still awake.  If you’re not, that’s fine.  Don’t wait up.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Sakuma did wait up.  Because he felt horrible about how the evening’s events had turned out, and he’d seen how stressed and exhausted Hatano was, and it just seemed fundamentally wrong to just go to sleep when Hatano was still awake and working.  And putting Emma to bed was definitely work, as far as Sakuma was concerned.  Then Hatano would need to shower, yet again.  And he probably wouldn’t bother drying his hair again, but Sakuma didn’t think he was really in a position where he should criticize him for that.  Not after the mistakes he’d made tonight.

            He shouldn’t have listened to Miyoshi.  He realized that now.  He should have trusted Hatano’s assessment of the situation.  What Miyoshi said had sounded plausible at the time, but he should have known that if Hatano was turning it down, there was a good reason for it.  He was the one who Lt. Colonel Yuuki had put in charge of Miyoshi’s health.  Sakuma should have realized before now that in the chain of command, Hatano was the one who he should have been following.

            “Lieutenant?  Why are you still up?”

            Sakuma jumped and twisted to face the youngest spy.  As predicted, Hatano’s hair was still damp, though he had clearly made a valiant effort to get it completely dry with just a towel.

            “I was waiting for you,” Sakuma admitted.

            “You have questions?”

            “No.  It just seemed wrong to go to bed before you.”

            “Ah.  You’re still feeling guilty,” Hatano said.  He hung up his towel on a hook beside his bed, then sat down on his bed.  “You shouldn’t.  It was Miyoshi’s idea, not yours.”

            “I agreed to it,” Sakuma said stiffly.  “I’m just as guilty as he is.”

            “Hmm, yeah, well . . . probably ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it would have gone off without a hitch,” said Hatano.  “Emma showing up, and throwing up, was just bad luck.”

            “I should have known better,” said Sakuma.  “I am sorry.”

            “And I already told you, it’s fine,” said Hatano.  “I don’t think Miyoshi was close enough to Emma to be exposed.  You might get sick, but there’s no use berating you over it now.  Either you will, or you won’t.  Either way, you can’t be in Miyoshi’s presence for a few days.  I still haven’t decided if I’m going to have you help me with Emma, or keep you away from her until we know if you’re infected or not.”

            “I will help with her,” Sakuma said, even though he was already dreading it.  It was the least he could do to make up for this evening’s mistakes.

            “That’s not your call, lieutenant,” said Hatano.  He pulled back the covers of his bed and crawled under them.  “It’s mine.  And I need to sleep on it.”

            “Yes.  You’re right.  I’ll do whatever you say.”

            “Alright, then stop being creepy,” Hatano ordered.

            “I’m not –”

            “It’s creepy when you’re suddenly so subservient to me of all people,” Hatano said.  “Especially since I know you despise me.”  He said it so casually.

            “I don’t despise you,” Sakuma protested.

            “Mmm hmm,” Hatano looked not at all convinced. 

            “I don’t,” Sakuma said, and realized what the problem was.  “Not anymore.”

            Hatano raised an eyebrow.

            “I will admit . . . that once I did,” Sakuma said, wondering if he was digging his grave with this admission.  “D-Agency’s methods were . . . not . . . orthodox.  Your tactics were . . . were foreign to me.  And I had difficulty accepting their validity.  But I’ve come to see that I was mistaken.  And . . . I may have had negative opinions about you personally –”

            “I’m sorry.  ‘May have?’”

            “Did have,” Sakuma said through gritted teeth.  “You . . . are clearly younger than the false identity that the military assigned you indicates.  I resented someone so much younger than me being . . . being . . .”

            “More clever and ruthless than you?” Hatano supplied helpfully.

            “Yes.  But I was wrong,” Sakuma said.  “About D-Agency as a whole, and about you.  And I am sorry.  For that, and for tonight.  I was mistaken not to realize that you were right beneath Lt. Colonel Yuuki in the chain of command, during this situation.  I won’t make that mistake again.  Whatever orders you give me, I’ll follow.”

            Hatano was looking at him with an expression Sakuma couldn’t even begin to decipher.

            “Then go to sleep,” he said finally.  And he flopped back onto his own bed himself.  “The more exhausted we are, the more likely we are to succumb to illness. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

           

            Getting a full out apology from Lt. Sakuma was so surreal, that the next morning, Hatano couldn’t help but wonder if it had been a dream.  But no.  He trusted his memories.  As long as he had them, anyway.  Which meant that Sakuma had sincerely apologized to him, as unexpected as that was.

            It wasn’t, Hatano mused as he got dressed, silently as any man of D-Agency, that he couldn’t see why Sakuma had always felt the way about him that he had.  Sakuma had been mired in the same system of beliefs that most of the people in the country were.  The belief that simply being a year older than another person, or in some cases only months older, put the elder above the younger, permanently, well, that belief ran rampant in Japan.  And Hatano had never gone out of his way to endear himself to Sakuma.  The lieutenant had never been worth the effort, in his opinion.  Anyone who discounted him because of his age already had a black mark against them in Hatano’s mind.  And combined with how stuffy Sakuma had been when he first joined them, how much he loathed them and their tactics, and how indoctrinated by the military he’d been, well, trying to befriend him just didn’t seem worth the investment of patience.  That had been back when D-Agency was still coming together, and there had been other, much more useful people for Hatano to get on the good side of. 

            Now . . . well, things were a little different.  Sakuma wasn’t nearly as much of an ignorant soldier as he’d once been, and Hatano didn’t have anyone else he could work with to get through the other side of his present dilemma.

            I guess there were worse people I could have been stuck with, thought Hatano, as he finished buttoning his suspenders.  He glanced over at the still sleeping Sakuma, then went to the communal desk in the corner of the dorm room, where there was always paper and writing supplies.  It would be better, he decided, to let Sakuma continue to sleep, as long as he possibly could.  More rest meant that his body had more energy to fight off illness.  Hatano had work to do now, though.  Sakuma could read what he needed to know off a piece of paper.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Sakuma-san,_

_Good morning._

_If you have woken feeling ill, please stay in bed.  When you need to use the restroom, use only the one on this floor, attached to the showers.  I will come by before 10:00 with your breakfast, if you can stomach any._

_If you have woken and are not feeling ill, feel free to stay in bed longer if you are still tired, or arise if you so choose.  Please limit your activities to this room, one classroom on this floor, and the restroom on this floor.  Please do not, for any reason other than an emergency, enter the infirmary or the kitchen.  Please avoid contact with Emma as much as possible.  I will find you before 10:00 with your breakfast, and answer any questions you may have._

_\- Hatano_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

            “Is Sakuma-san –”

            “Still asleep,” Hatano told Miyoshi before his friend could finish his question.  “I don’t know if he’s sick or not, and didn’t wake him to find out.  That would have been counterproductive.”

            “Yes,” Miyoshi agreed.

            Hatano sat down beside him on the bed and sat Miyoshi’s breakfast tray down in his lap.  “What about you?  How are you feeling?”

            “I don’t feel any symptoms of illness,” Miyoshi said.  “And the pain in my chest is noticeably less.”

            “Even now?  When your pain medication has worn off during the night?” Hatano asked.

            “Yes,” Miyoshi said.

            “Good.”  The relief on Hatano’s face was very evident, even though half his face was covered by the mask he always wore in the infirmary these days.  Miyoshi couldn’t exactly say so, but it had been good to see Hatano’s whole face last night, even if it had been tense with worry.

            “Yes.  I’m healing,” Miyoshi said.  “Even if I come down with what Yuuki-san and Emma-chan have, I might be strong enough to survive it now.”

            “Possibly.  But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

            “Of course not.”

            Hatano didn’t talk much today as Miyoshi ate.  Before, he’d always filled the silences and filled Miyoshi in on many of the things that he’d missed.  Miyoshi attributed Hatano’s silence to worry rather than anger.  He hoped it was worry, at least, but would have preferred anger to exhaustion or illness. 

            “Did you get enough sleep?” Miyoshi asked near the end of his meal.

            “Yes.  Nearly seven hours.  I went back to bed as soon as I finished cleaning up from last night’s mess.”

            “Did you dry your hair?”

            “As well as I could with a towel,” Hatano said.  “What is with you and dry hair?  It doesn’t effect one’s constitution that much.”

            “But it does effect it,” Miyoshi said stubbornly. 

            “I never used to dry my hair after baths before.  Even in the winter,” Hatano said.  “And I used to have long hair.”

            Miyoshi was surprised at this revelation and it must have shown on his face.

            “My father insisted,” Hatano said with a shrug.  “It was a family tradition.  Nonsense, of course.  First thing I did when I left was hack it off.”

            “Good.  Can you imagine how much I would have to nag you if you had more hair to leave wet?” asked Miyoshi.  He hoped that the banter helped hide his continued surprise, that Hatano had chosen to reveal a personal detail from his past.  The moratorium on talking about their old lives had never officially been lifted . . . but it wasn’t like Yuuki-san would throw them out of D-Agency for doing so now.  He wondered just why Hatano had chosen to speak of his past now.  It was, without a doubt, a sign of trust, but the timing . . . seemed odd after Miyoshi’s miscalculations and their disastrous results the previous night.  Maybe it was Hatano’s way of saying he trusted Miyoshi despite that.  Or maybe Hatano had revealed it without really thinking about the implications because he trusted Miyoshi implicitly. 

            “Yes.  I can.  And it would probably lead to me drugging your every meal, to put you back to sleep and shut you up,” said Hatano, so casually, that Miyoshi was almost certain that his latter theory for why Hatano had revealed this was true.  Inexplicably, it made his throat feel a little tight.  “Oh, speaking of which, I actually got Yuuki-san to wonder yesterday morning if I’d drugged his tea.”

            Miyoshi listened with interest as Hatano summarized the incident as he put aside Miyoshi’s empty breakfast tray, and started the water for Miyoshi’s sponge bath.  And once that story was told, Miyoshi kept him talking, prompting him for more details, and sometimes telling little stories of his own and prompting Hatano for responses.  He thought that he did a reasonably good job of keeping Hatano from dwelling on his worries.

            “Can you stay for a bit?” Miyoshi asked, once Hatano had finished washing his hair for him, as promised.  It felt wonderful to finally have hair that wasn’t so thick with built up oil, but he couldn’t help feeling guilty, knowing what his desire for clean hair had caused to happen.  And he felt a little guilty because his desire for Hatano to stay was mostly selfish.  It was true that he had been able to get Hatano to relax a bit while they were talking, and he worried that Hatano would go right back to being worried and stressed as soon as he left, Miyoshi mainly wanted Hatano to stay just because . . . just because.  He enjoyed spending time with Hatano even in normal times.  And after Hatano left, all Miyoshi had to look forward to was hours of solitude.  Today he didn’t even have Sakuma for company.  His own fault, he knew, but he still did not look forward to the boredom.

            “I can’t.  Not right now,” Hatano said.  “I need to check on Yuuki-san, Emma-chan, and Sakuma-san.  Get them all their breakfasts.  Make sure no one has an out of control fever or can’t regain consciousness.  Then shower again, then start on lunches.  I’ve got to figure out something else for you to eat for a few days if I get sick, since Sakuma-san can’t be in here with you.  Not until I know Emma didn’t infect him.  I’ve decided to keep the two of them separate for now, by the way.  By day four, if he doesn’t show any symptoms, I’ll let him back in quarantine.  Though hopefully the others will be better by then.”

            “Hopefully,” Miyoshi agreed.

            “Sorry.  About not being able to stay.  I do owe you a game of shogi.”  Hatano wandered over to the pile of books and newspapers that he had brought in the first day and selected a book.  He came back over to Miyoshi then and laid the book in his lap.  “For now, try this.  Kaminaga read it in England and recommended it.  So I hunted down a copy for Jitsui, for when he got back from being undercover.  I don’t have his verdict on it yet.  I haven’t gotten the chance to give it to him yet.  But I ended up reading it too, and it’s enjoyable.  Who doesn’t love a good murder mystery?”

            _“Murder on the Orient Express,”_ Miyoshi read the title.  Well, if Kaminaga and Hatano both recommended it, more likely than not it was a good read.  And there were much worse ways of spending a day in the solitude of the infirmary than by reading. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Travelling across war-torn Europe and Asia was, by anyone’s count, a daunting task.  Odagiri didn’t want to admit how impossible he’d believed it to be at first.  If it had just been him, and him alone, it would have taken him a very, very long time to make it back to Japan.  But, he guessed he was out of shape, so to speak, at being a spy.  There was a reason Yuuki-san had teamed him up with both Jitsui and Tazaki, and Odagiri knew it couldn’t have been because Yuuki thought they needed more bonding time, after Jitsui and Tazaki had saved Odagiri from Manchuria.

            Jitsui, little monster that he was, took all of ten minutes to plan a route for them, factoring in all the different nations they needed to make their way across, each one’s alliances, and the different means of transportation available to them.  They were out of Germany the very next day, catching trains through various Axis ruled nations that took them all the way to neutral Turkey.  From there, they took the rails south, through several Arabic nations whose names flew through Odagiri’s head, right along with the rapidly changing scenery, until they reached a port town on the Persian Gulf, in what he was pretty sure was Saudi Arabia. 

            Then they were stalled for a few days, trying to book passage by boat across the Indian Ocean, to south-eastern Asia.  For several days, Tazaki, who had been delegated that task, was unable to find any acceptable prospects.  “There are a few ships willing to take us to the Dutch East Indies,” he told them on their second night there, as the three of them ate a meal of spiced rice and vegetables in the privacy of their hotel room, “but so far that’s the best I’m finding.”

            “Let’s wait a few days,” Jitsui said.  “Finding passage to Thailand would be much more ideal.”

            “It would save us another layover, and another series of checkpoints for our travel papers to be scrutinized at, but it would get us closer to home,” Tazaki pointed out.  “And it’s close enough to Thailand that we would definitely be able to find passage there.”

            Jitsui and Tazaki looked at each other wordlessly for several seconds, as though they were silently debating with each other.  Or maybe considering the merits of the other’s arguments.  Then, as one, they turned and looked at Odagiri.

            Odagiri was embarrassed, but he had to tell them the truth.  “I’m sorry . . . I have no idea where Thailand is.”

            “Oh.  That’s what they’re calling Siam now,” Jitsui said.  “And it’s currently sympathetic to Japan, on account that they’re at war with France.  Once we get there, we’ll be able to take the rails north, through Japan’s various territories, to the east coast.  Then we’ll have our pick of Japanese occupied ports to find a ship home in.”

            “And how are the Dutch East Indies feeling about Japan these days?” Odagiri had to ask.

            “Depends on who you ask,” Tazaki admitted.  “For awhile, lots of the native people were all for Japan, considering what we had to offer.  The Dutch and people of mixed Dutch ancestry, less enthusiastic about us.  And lately the Chinese who are living there, and those of Chinese descent aren’t too happy with what we’ve been doing in China and Manchuria.”

            “We’re probably going to invade them in two years tops,” Jitsui put in.

            “It sounds like a hotbed of trouble,” Odagiri said, as much as he hated siding with Jitsui, just on principal.  “Wouldn’t it be better to try our luck here a little longer?  We’re relatively safe here now, are we not?”

            “Saudi Arabia’s neutral,” said Tazaki, his tone sounding like agreement.  “The general consensus seems to be that it’s better for both sides to leave it that way for now.  If they have to pick a side though, they’ll probably go to the Allies.  But I don’t think that will be any time this month.  That doesn’t mean someone won’t try to stab one of us for being Japanese.  Or that we won’t get caught up in an explosion meant for a Brit.  But that’s about true for every neutral nation at this point.”

            “Why can’t we all just get along?” Jitsui asked with a straight face.

            Tazaki smirked.  Odagiri let his mouth twitch slightly and shook his head.

            “I am impressed,” he said, as they finished their meal, “With how quickly we made headway here.  It’s only been about a week, but we’re already out of Europe.  It feels like we’re already halfway home.”

            “Mmm, not quite,” Tazaki said. 

            “I know we’re not literally,” Odagiri explained.  It was true.  The next part of their trip, by sea, would take a week itself, at the very least.  And that was after they managed to find passage.  Then they’d have a few more days of train rides north, then another few days to a week of boat travel, depending on which port they sailed out of, to Japan, and how fast the ship was.  “But the hardest part of the trip should have been navigating our way through Europe, no?  What with all the countries that have their borders closed to people from the wrong nationalities?”

            “True,” Tazaki agreed.

            Odagiri looked at their youngest companion then.  “You outdid yourself, Jitsui.”

            Jitsui smiled graciously at the rare compliment from Odagiri.  While there hadn’t exactly ever been a grudge between them, Odagiri and Jitsui had never exactly liked each other either.  Odagiri disapproved of numerous tactics Jitsui employed, and the low blows he dealt for fun.  Jitsui knew this, and thought that Odagiri’s attitude was too high handed for D-Agency.  They definitely had their differences.  But when Odagiri had needed help Jitsui had been one of the two to come.  And yes, he knew that was because Jitsui had been ordered there, but there had been nothing begrudging in Jitsui’s attitude.  He had wanted to be there.  And Odagiri had appreciated it.

            _“Around the World in Eighty Days.”_

            “Pardon?” Odagiri asked.

            “A book,” Jitsui explained.  “By the French novelist Jules Verne.  One of my favorites, when I was a child.  It’s about a man who, on a bet, has to circumnavigate the world in only eighty days.  I may have drawn a bit of inspiration for our route from that book.”

            “Though the world wasn’t as complicated back then,” said Tazaki.  “You’ve had to keep us in only Axis and neutral countries.  And we’re making better time than Mr. Fogg and his party in the book.”

            “Thanks to improvements in engines.  And we only need to cross half the world, not the whole of it,” said Jitsui.  “Once we get to Thailand, we’re as close to home free as a spy abroad can get.”

            “I’ll find us passage directly to Thailand then,” Tazaki said, finalizing the decision by putting it into words.  “Even if it means we have to stay here longer.”

            Odagiri smiled as he began collecting the dishes from their finished meal.  There were far worse places for a spy to be stuck for a few days.  Or weeks, though Odagiri doubted it would take them that long.  But for now, they had plenty of funds, were in a fairly safe, neutral country, the weather was warm, the food was good, and until now, they had been making excellent time at covering ground.  They would be on their way home again soon, Odagiri had no doubt.  And until then, he was in excellent company.


	10. Chapter 10

            Fukumoto wished that Yuuki-san had paired him with Odagiri for traveling home, but at the same time, understood why he did not.  Him sending Fukumoto solo was a message in itself.  He wanted Fukumoto home as fast as possible.  Which made sense.  Fukumoto was one of the few remaining field ready spies.  Miyoshi, if he survived, would be out of the game for months.  Hatano was benched until next summer, except for in the most extreme cases, or alternately, the most easy assignments.  Amari mainly did handler work now that he had adopted a daughter.  Kaminaga could go into the field, but was being groomed to be a spymaster himself, and possibly take over D-Agency, so Yuuki had been keeping him close at hand, as of late.  Jitsui was due for a round of conditioning.  And Odagiri had been out of the game so long and was way overdue for several rounds of conditioning, and refresher courses, and would probably need a lot of help getting home.  So aside from Fukumoto, Tazaki was the only other spy Yuuki was really willing to send out at this point. 

            Yuuki had left Fukumoto unburdened by traveling companions so that he could get home faster.  Because there were many moves he could make by himself that he could not with someone else to watch out for.  Not to mention, cover stories were so much more fluid for one man traveling alone than for multiple men traveling together.

            So Fukumoto took full advantage of this.  Under a Japanese persona, he gained admittance to France, via train, and rode the rails to the northern coast.  There he switched to being a Manchurian in exile, fleeing Axis oppression.  If he felt a little guilty about taking advantage of the kindness of some country people who hastened to smuggle him out of the country and across the channel in a rowboat, in the dark of night, he may have made up for it by leaving a generous stack of French cash wrapped in a package, with his host’s wife, with instructions to open if after he was gone.  “May have” because though he definitely left the cash with them, there was no guarantee of how useful it would be.  In war time especially, the money of conquered countries had a habit of becoming useless scraps of paper.  Nothing Fukumoto could do about that.

            In England, he remained in his Manchurian guise, and was able to book passage to the United States on a ship.  Crossing the Atlantic took nearly a week, and the winter seas were rough and stormy.  At times, fears of German U-boats deciding to attack a passenger ship took second place to fears of the boat capsizing, despite the captain’s and crew’s assurance that the danger of that was minimal.  Even Fukumoto, who had never gotten seasick before, found himself feeling a bit green after days of the boat constantly rocking so violently.  To say that he was glad when they finally reached their port in New York was an understatement.

            From New York to San Francisco took four days by train.  But once he was there, Fukumoto found himself balking at the idea of boarding another ship.  So he did what any good spy would do, and found where the local pilots liked to drink and gamble.  It took him no time at all to find his mark, a pilot who possessed both a degenerate gambling streak and a Lockheed Vega.  Then it took him four hours to take everything from the man, including his shirt.  By the time Fukumoto was finished with him, the man was happy enough to trade the return of his fortune for a flight across the Pacific.  It took two days.  One to fly from California to Hawaii, and one to fly from Hawaii to Japan, with a six hour break for sleep in between, so his pilot wouldn’t die of exhaustion.

            Fourteen days after D-Agency dug Miyoshi’s coffin out of his grave in Germany, Fukumoto set foot back on Japanese soil.  It was bitter cold, and blustery, but it was where D-Agency stood, and D-Agency was home.  Fukumoto hastened back there, anxious about what he would find.             

 

* * *

 

 

            For two days, Sakuma showed no symptoms of Yuuki-san’s and Emma’s illness, and Hatano was optimistic that the lieutenant’s immune system had managed to fend off the infection.  He was even thinking of allowing him to return to the infirmary and keep Miyoshi company the next day.  But on the morning of the third day, Sakuma awoke with the same cough and fever that Yuuki-san and Emma had, and Hatano felt worry welling up in his own throat again.

            Because while Yuuki and Emma had recovered somewhat, they still weren’t well enough to say they were actually _better_.  Their fevers had mostly subsided, but they were still running a bit warm, and their hacking coughs persisted.  Hatano didn’t know whether they were still contagious or not, and couldn’t risk it, not with Miyoshi still recovering from a stab wound in his chest.

            So, he ended up with another sick person to take care of, on top of the two he was already caring for, who couldn’t be classified as better, and the injured person who he couldn’t afford to let get sick, no matter what.  That was the point where Hatano began to feel overwhelmed.  He had no idea how he wasn’t sick yet, and was starting to wonder if maybe it would be better to get Miyoshi out of D-Agency and to one of their safe houses.  That way, Miyoshi would be in a sterile environment, at least, and Hatano could split his time between the two places, but Yuuki-san shot that idea down immediately when Hatano ran it by him.  He didn’t want Miyoshi away from them, with no one to take care of him if Hatano fell sick and couldn’t get to the safe house.  Yuuki seemed to believe that he himself would be better soon.  And he pretended to be better than he actually was, but the thermometer did not lie, and Hatano was well aware that Yuuki could only pretend at all because he was drinking tea almost constantly to keep his throat clear.  He had Hatano bring large soup pots full of freshly boiled water up to him at each meal time, and leave several tins of tea in his room, so he could make his own tea throughout the day.  Boiling a large quantity of water kept it warmer, longer.  Without that, Hatano had no doubt Yuuki’s voice would be as hoarse as Sakuma’s had become. 

            The truth was, Yuuki probably would be well soon.  But soon was a relative term, and what mattered was if Yuuki would be well again soon _enough_.  So Hatano arranged a contingency plan.  In what little free time he had, he forged a new identity for Miyoshi.  He made him a college student, at a nonmilitary university.  A medical school, to force him to be seen in a better light, since non-military men their age were now looked down upon by the remaining society in many circles, but a student studying to be a doctor had one of the best excuses.  The cover story for his injury was that he had been hit by a car and knocked onto a fence, impaling himself on it.  (Something that actually had happened to a member of D-Agency, but that was another story.)  His younger brother (Hatano’s newest cover), also a med student had patched him up at their parents’ place, but illness in the house had forced little brother to bring him to the hospital, to be looked after there for a few days.    Or so the contingency plan went.  Hatano hoped he wouldn’t need to use it.  And that if he did need to use it, he would be strong enough to get Miyoshi to the hospital.  And that he wouldn’t unintentionally infect him along the way. 

            On the brighter side, Miyoshi truly was recovering.  He was looking better every day.  He claimed to be feeling stronger and in less pain every day too, but Hatano took those claims with a grain of salt since every man in D-Agency always did his best to downplay his weaknesses.  But it was a fact that his wound was healing nicely.  No signs of infection and no signs of reopening.  Under Hatano’s supervision, Miyoshi had raised his arms above his head, carefully and slowly, and the scar tissue had stretched but not torn open at the edges. 

            Every time he entered the infirmary, Miyoshi tried to talk him into staying.  Hatano obliged as often as he was able to.  He knew how bored Miyoshi had to be, stuck down there by himself, with only books and last week’s newspapers for company.  They didn’t play shogi.  Hatano was well aware that he was in no state of mind to go up against Miyoshi in a strategy game.  Miyoshi didn’t press him to.  He mainly just wanted to talk, so Hatano slumped down in a chair, seated a safe distance away so that if he was contagious there was less chance of Miyoshi catching it, and he filled Miyoshi in on what he could.

            Two out of three times, he ended up falling asleep, sitting there in the infirmary chair.  Which, when he thought back to it, was probably Miyoshi’s plan from the start.  Miyoshi made it very clear that he did not approve of the dark circles under Hatano’s eyes, or strain around them which would cause wrinkles, but Hatano didn’t really have time to care about his appearance or future appearance.  But, as much as he knew he shouldn’t indulge in it, napping in the infirmary was nice.  It was nice and warm there, unlike the spare classroom that Hatano had dragged his bedding to, to isolate himself from Sakuma’s contamination in the dorms.  Just thinking about all the work it would take to decontaminate the dorms, and all the laundry that would need to be done was enough to make Hatano feel a bit sick himself.  He would have liked to think that the others could help him with that when they got home, but honestly, he wasn’t expecting anyone else to get back for at least a week.  And even that was being overly optimistic.

            “Wake me up when I fall asleep in here,” Hatano grumbled the second time it happened.  “I shouldn’t be sleeping in here, with you.  You know that.”

            “You should be getting more rest.  You know that,” Miyoshi countered.

            “But not in here with you.  I could be contagious and not know it yet.  I could infect you,” said Hatano, well aware that Miyoshi already knew this and he shouldn’t have to be saying it.

            “You needed the sleep,” said Miyoshi, unswayed and unrepentant. 

            After that, Hatano had staggered out of the infirmary, to the lounge . . . and had continued his nap in front of the fire.  Because as much as he hated it, he did need more sleep if he wanted to stay well.  He regretted it later, when everyone’s dinners were late, and he was up late sterilizing dishes.  He half wanted to just leave the dishes in the sink until morning, but that would not only make him late in completing other tasks, but would increase the risk of the disease spreading to him and Miyoshi.

            It was hard.  Doing so much every day, taking care of so many people . . . and worrying the whole time.  It took its toll on Hatano.  By the time things finally started to turn a corner, this skin on Hatano’s fingers had started cracking from so much exposure to water, soap, and winter air, and his hair had grown lank and brittle from over washing it, since showering so often was such a necessity.  But three days after Sakuma had fallen sick, Yuuki-san was finally almost back to normal.  His cough lingered, as winter coughs tended to do, but no longer sounded as painful or chest-rattling.  His fever had ended and he assured Hatano that aside from a bit of fatigue, he no longer felt ill at all.  And Emma seemed only about a step or two behind Yuuki-san.  Her fever was gone by that evening too, though her cough also lingered.  Both were almost definitely no longer contagious.  Only Sakuma was still held in the disease’s grasp, and taking care of one sick, contagious person was so much easier than taking care of three. 

            Hatano went to sleep for the first time that night without that curl of dread in his stomach, and that feeling that he was going to fail everyone weighing down his shoulders.  For the first time since Emma had fallen sick too, he really, really believed that everything was going to be alright.  That they were going to come through the other side of this without Miyoshi getting sick and dying, and everything was going to be okay.

            He woke up the next morning shivering so violently he couldn’t believe he’d been able to sleep at all, all of his muscles aching, and his throat feeling like it was on fire.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

            Fukumoto arrived home at D-Agency in the early morning hours, right before most people were bustling off to work.  The agency was quiet, though that was hardly unexpected, considering the time.  Fukumoto wouldn’t be surprised if even Yuuki-san was asleep.

            Yuuki’s office was, technically, the first place he should have gone, but protocol had never been anyone’s strong suit at D-Agency.  It was to the infirmary that Fukumoto went first, to get the question that had been weighing on his mind the whole trip home answered.  He knew better than to actually enter the infirmary, what with him still in his traveling clothes, and Miyoshi healing from a chest wound and vulnerable to illness.  But taking just a peek shouldn’t hurt anything.  So that’s what Fukumoto did. 

            A smile crossed his face at the sight of Miyoshi sleeping peacefully underneath several warm blankets, and he quickly, and quietly, pulled the door shut again. 

            Then, as tempting as a shower and his bed in the dormitory was, Fukumoto knew that he should find Yuuki-san and report in next.  So, he went to Yuuki’s office next, and arrived right as Yuuki-san himself did, coming from the opposite hall.

            “Fukumoto,” Yuuki said, and it wasn’t often that one caught Yuuki-san off guard, but Fukumoto would swear that he was pleasantly surprised. 

            “I’m home,” Fukumoto said.  Was it his imagination, or did Yuuki’s voice sound a bit rusty.

            “You’re early,” said Yuuki as he opened his office door and motioned Fukumoto inside.

            “Am I the first to make it back?”

            “You are,” Yuuki informed him.  “Aside from Miyoshi, myself, and Hatano who rode with us.”

            “And how is everyone here?” asked Fukumoto.

            “Well, you know for yourself that Miyoshi is alive and well,” Yuuki said shrewdly.  “As for the rest of us, there was some illness in the agency.  Emma, Sakuma, and myself were afflicted.  I am now recovered and Emma is past the worst of it, but Sakuma, as of yesterday, was still quite ill.  Hatano, thus far, has managed not to catch it.  He will be glad for your return.”

            Fukumoto could imagine.  Because it sounded like Hatano had needed to take care of everyone in the house.  Fukumoto mentally brushed aside his own desires.  Sleep would have to wait a little bit, though actually, a shower would be necessary before he entered the infirmary.  Which was probably where he would be working, this morning . . . after he fixed breakfast for the house.  Miyoshi would need help being fed, unless he’d been given the okay to lift his hands above his chest.  Fukumoto would have to check on that.  If need be, he’d help Miyoshi eat.  Whether that was necessary or not, Fukumoto would be the one bringing him his breakfast.  He needed a shower anyway, and Hatano had probably showered so much he was sick of it.  It made sense to give him a break from that since Fukumoto needed to anyway. 

            “Unless you have need of me, I will shower and then begin preparing breakfast,” Fukumoto said.

            Yuuki nodded.  “Let Hatano sleep as long as he can.  You are to take care of Miyoshi this morning.  Once you’ve done that, you may go to sleep yourself.”

            Fukumoto planned to stay awake long enough to fix lunch at least, but nodded his acquiescence anyway.  Yuuki hadn’t said he had to go to sleep after all, just that he could if he wanted to.  So he made his way toward the bathroom, but got an unpleasant surprise once he reached it.  Hatano was inside already, on the side of the bathroom where the toilet stalls stood, opposite the shower heads.  He was sitting on the floor, leaning against the stall frame, eyes closed and face tinged green.  It was clear at a glance that he’d just been sick.

            “Hatano?” Fukumoto asked.  He had to push down the urge to immediately go to his friend’s side.

            Hatano’s eyes opened, wider than Fukumoto had expected.  Hatano looked like he was having a hard time focusing, but finally, his eyes zeroed in on the older spy.  “Fukumoto?”

            “You’re sick.”

            “Yeah.”  Hatano gave an exhausted, humorless smile.  “Welcome home.”

            “I’m glad to be home,” Fukumoto said honestly.  “It seems I’m needed.”

            Hatano smirked.  Then his eyes widened with alarm and he slapped a hand over his  mouth and turned away from Fukumoto, and began coughing.  Fukumoto winced in sympathy.  The noises coming out of Hatano’s throat sounded painful.  His every instinct was urging him to go to Hatano’s side, regardless of the risk of exposure, and any other time he would have.  But now was the one time he couldn’t afford to get sick.  Still, he couldn’t just leave Hatano on the bathroom floor like this.

            “I’m going to get Yuuki-san,” Fukumoto told Hatano when his coughing finally subsided.  “He can help you up and get you back to bed.”

            “No.  Don’t bother Yuuki-san,” croaked Hatano.

            “He won’t see this as a bother,” Fukumoto assured him.

            “He’s sick too.”

            “He’s better now,” said Fukumoto.  “And, since you caught this from him, he’s immune to it now.”

            Hatano probably would have argued more if the sickness hadn’t seized his stomach right then.  Fukumoto left the bathroom as Hatano began retching into the toilet again.  He then made good on his threat to Hatano and informed Yuuki of the situation.  Then Fukumoto waited outside the bathroom while Yuuki went in and tended to Hatano.  A few minutes later, Yuuki escorted a miserable looking Hatano out.  He must have gotten Hatano under the shower to clean him up, because his hair was damp and he was wrapped in a towel, and shivering.  Hatano needed to lean heavily on Yuuki to walk, and so for once, Yuuki abandoned his fake limp to keep Hatano on his feet.

            “Use the shower and toilet furthest from the door,” Yuuki told Fukumoto as they passed him.  “And stay out of Emma’s room, the dormitory, and the classrooms on that floor.  I will bring Sakuma his meals.”

            “And Hatano?  Where are you taking him?” Fukumoto asked.  Because Yuuki-san and Hatano were headed in the opposite direction as the dorms.

            “My room,” Yuuki said simply.  “As soon as Sakuma is over this illness, I want the dormitory sterilized.  Hopefully before the others return.  The need to sterilize my quarters is not as pressing, and I can keep an eye on him and spare you the trouble.”

            “Practical,” said Fukumoto, with a perfectly straight face.  Yuuki narrowed his eyes all the same, daring him to say anything else.  Fukumoto declined to take the dare, and merely nodded to Yuuki before entering the showers. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

            Hatano was so miserable.  He just wanted to curl up and die.  Even though that would be extremely rude, beings that Yuuki-san had put him in his own bed. 

            “Rest,” Yuuki told him, after practically carrying him up the stairs to his room and helping him into bed, because Hatano’s head had been spinning so badly at that point, he half wondered if he’d hit it again and given himself another concussion.

            He closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself for warmth.  His hands clutched at the sleep shirt Yuuki-san had pulled over his head before tucking him into bed.  One of Yuuki-san’s own sleep shirts, so it was big on him.  But warm.  Made of better fabric than the sleep shirts Hatano owned.  And the sleep shirts Jitsui owned, which Hatano had worn on occasion in the past.  Blearily, Hatano tried to make a mental note to find one like this for Jitsui when he was better.  Yuuki-san’s sheets were warmer too, and made of thicker material than the standard fabric of the military provided sheets they used in the dorms.  Hatano wondered if it would be alright to replace his sheets too?  Because if this was how cold Jitsui felt every night, well, that just sucked.  He shivered and tried to pull the blankets closer to him, and couldn’t help wondering if this was really okay for him to be here in Yuuki-san’s own bed?  Well, he knew if it wasn’t okay, Yuuki-san wouldn’t have put him up here, but it just . . . felt . . . weird. 

            But whatever.  Hatano felt too rotten to care that much.  Besides, he could see the practicality of this arrangement.  Sakuma would be well soon.  But the dorms couldn’t be sanitized if Hatano was still in them, and still sick.  Yuuki-san’s bed was already contaminated by the disease.  Hatano being in it wasn’t going to hurt anything, or delay any important cleaning from taking place.  He just hoped that he didn’t burden Yuuki-san too much, being here.  Not that he thought he would.  Yuuki could easily find another place to sleep.  There were plenty of unused beds in the dorms right now, since everyone else was gone.  And Yuuki had his office to work in.

            Which was why Hatano watched with some confusion when, after stoking the fire in the room’s small fireplace, Yuuki went to the small desk that stood in the corner of the room, sat down, and turned on the desk lamp.

            “What’re you doing?” Hatano mumbled.

            “Working,” Yuuki answered.

            Why here? Hatano wondered.  But didn’t ask.  Yuuki had work to do, now that he was better.  He shouldn’t be wasting his boss’s time with pointless questions.  He just needed to be quiet now, and try not to bother him.  Sleeping would be good.  He wouldn’t be bothering Yuuki-san then, and his body would have more energy to fight off this illness if he could sleep.  And being unconscious meant that he wouldn’t have to feel this achy and miserable. 

            So Hatano closed his eyes and nestled his face against the pillow, and tried to ignore how horribly sick he felt.

            A hand on his brow made his eyes pop back open, and he stared up at Yuuki in confusion.

            “You did well,” Yuuki told him gruffly.  “Now it’s your job to rest and recover.”

            “Yes, Grandfather,” Hatano mumbled, and closed his eyes again.


	11. Chapter 11

            It took three more days before Tazaki was able to find their trio passage to Thailand.  And their ship didn’t sail for three days after that.  Jitsui, Odagiri, and Tazaki all did their best to maintain low profiles while waiting.  Which was second nature for them.  Jitsui spent most of his time in their motel room, avoiding the sun.  Make no mistake, he loved the warmth of it.  But his skin was winter pale, and he had no wish to get sunburnt.  He remembered that all too well from his childhood, when he lived in Hawaii.  Even when his skin had been tanned from constant exposure to the sun, there were still days when he got burned. 

            Their motel room was plenty warm.  During the day at least.  At night it got chilly, but not nearly as cold as nights at D-Agency in the winter.  Blankets were provided on each of their beds and kept them comfortable.  Jitsui had no complaints at all about their accommodations.

            The food was good in Saudi Arabia too.  Very different from Japanese food, but still good.  No soy sauce, which Jitsui missed, and the rice was different, and almost always spiced, but he liked it.  It was nice to be somewhere where food was plentiful.  Even meat didn’t seem to be in short supply, and the three spies couldn’t resist making the most of that, and having some once or twice every day.  The day before they sailed out, Jitsui made an excursion into the marketplace, braving the scorching sun, to buy as many nuts and dried dates as he thought he could get away with bringing home.  With food shortages in Japan, he had the feeling that they would be a welcome addition to D-Agency’s stores.

            Overall, their stay there was a nice reprieve.  It could almost have been a vacation if not for their urgency to leave and get home.  But when the time came to board their ship, despite everything, Jitsui was a little sad to leave.  Make no mistake, he was anxious to get home.  To see if Miyoshi was alright, and to get back to Hatano.  And back to work, because with the war escalating, Yuuki would need them.  But this had sort of always been his childhood dream.  Visiting strange, far off lands.  Trying new foods and doing things that he’d read about in his books.  There were a lot of things he would have liked to do in Saudi Arabia that he didn’t have the chance to.  Like ride a camel.  Or visit one of their coffee houses, where coffee was prepared as elaborately as tea in the Japanese tea ceremony.  Or find a nice vantage point overlooking the sea, where he could sit in the shade and read a book.  He would probably never come back here, he knew.  Most people never got the chance to travel abroad once, let alone multiple times . . . but maybe he would.  Maybe someday, in the distant future, if the war ever ended, he would be free to travel to his heart’s content.  Maybe he would come back here, and bring Hatano with him, and they could try everything they wanted to.  It was a nice thought, however unlikely.

            But for now, at least, he was on his way to Thailand.  Even though he knew he wouldn’t get to see as much of it as he would like, it was still an exciting thought.  And he really was anxious to see home, and Hatano again too. 

 

* * *

 

 

            “Fukumoto.  Welcome home,” Miyoshi said, when Fukumoto entered the infirmary.  He didn’t bother curbing his emotions, hiding the grin that wanted, so very much, to spread across his face.  Fukumoto deserved one of his top shelf smiles, after all, for the part he’d played in saving Miyoshi’s life and getting him home.  And perhaps for being the first one to make it back too.  And vain though that line of thinking might be, Miyoshi knew that his fellow spies could differentiate his real, unrestrained smiles from his feigned or controlled ones.  He believed seeing one of his real smiles would make them happy, after what they’d gone through to save him.  So really, it was the very least he could do.

            “I’m home,” said Fukumoto, and Miyoshi could tell from his eyes that he was returning Miyoshi’s smile with a soft one of his own, behind his medical mask. 

            “I bet Hatano was glad to see you,” said Miyoshi.  Another spy home meant someone to share the workload with.

            Fukumoto’s eyes sobered a bit.  “I’m afraid Hatano has gotten sick.”

            That wiped the smile right off Miyoshi’s face.  “Oh.” 

            It had pretty much been inevitable.  Miyoshi had known that.  Hatano too.  His immune system had been so compromised from travel, cold, and stress, that Miyoshi would have been more surprised if Hatano hadn’t taken ill.  But it was still not nice to hear that the inevitable had happened.  He’d been hoping Hatano would beat the odds and stay well.  And he’d even started thinking Hatano was going to, Hatano had held out for so long.  Exactly as long as he needed to, Miyoshi realized, though it hadn’t been planned and he couldn’t have known.  Fukumoto had gotten home just in time.

            “Yuuki-san is taking care of him, since he’s recovered, and immune now,” Fukumoto said.  “Emma is mostly better too.  And Sakuma-san is past the worst of his illness.  He doesn’t need much.  Only his meals brought to him, and tea for his throat.  I think Yuuki-san intends to take those to him and just have me make them.  It seems there’s much less work for me to do than there was for Hatano.”

            “You always were the lucky one,” said Miyoshi.

            Fukumoto gave him a blank expression and a thumbs up sign, stealing another genuine smile from Miyoshi.

            “I have your breakfast,” said Fukumoto, as he came further into the room.  “Are you able to eat on your own now?  Or do you still need help?”

            “The past two days, Hatano has let me eat one meal on my own, and fed the other two to me,” Miyoshi answered honestly.  “I believe I’m well enough to feed myself for all three, however.”

            “I’ll let you feed yourself breakfast,” said Fukumoto.  “And after I check your wound, I’ll decide about the other two meals.”  He passed Miyoshi’s breakfast tray into his lap.  Miyoshi was pleased at the sight of it, even though it was all simple fair.  Warm miso soup, a small dish of pickled vegetables, piping hot rice, and a raw egg to pour over the rice.  Miyoshi wasted no time doing so, then used his chopsticks to break the yolk and stir the egg about in the rice, letting the residual heat cook the egg as it coated the individual grains of rice. 

            “This looks delicious.”

            “This was hastily thrown together.”  Fukumoto was always rather proud of his cooking.  It probably rankled that this was the first meal he served after returning home, but he certainly had many other things to do than just cook.  Sleep was probably one of those things.  Fukumoto looked tired.  Miyoshi wouldn’t be surprised if he had simply showered then got to work, after checking in with Yuuki.  When he asked, Fukumoto confirmed this theory.  “I will be taking a nap after I finish here with you, and fix lunches.  Yuuki-san will be distributing meals to the others.  I left them in the cafeteria for him.

            “I’ll eat quickly then,” Miyoshi said, and began to do just that.

            “Please take your time.  Eating slowly is better for your digestion.” 

            So Miyoshi compromised and ate at a moderate pace, since doing otherwise would have upset Fukumoto, who took his role as D-Agency’s den mother almost as seriously as Amari took his role as their self-appointed big brother.  Once he was finished with his meal, Fukumoto removed his bandages and took a look at his wound.

            “It looks good,” Fukumoto said, after inspecting it thoroughly, not just looking at it closely, but gently touching the edges of it as well, to make sure they were holding.  “It’s scarred over nicely, and the tissue seems strong.  There have been no problems with infection?”

            “None,” Miyoshi told him.  “Hatano did a good job cleaning the wound, and keeping it clean.”

            “You should be fine to feed yourself all your meals,” Fukumoto said.  “You probably have been fine to for a few days now.”

            “Hatano decided to err on the side of caution,” Miyoshi said.  “But I can hardly blame him.”

            “No.  Not when he was the only abled bodied person here to take care of you,” said Fukumoto. 

            “I don’t think he was expecting help to arrive as quickly as you did.  How did you get home so fast anyway?  It’s been . . . two weeks since we left Germany?  To get home that quickly, you had to have taken an airplane for at least one leg of the journey.”

            “Yes.”

            “Do tell.”

            “Later,” Fukumoto promised. 

            “Right.  Forgive me.  You should go sleep.”

            Fukumoto finished rebandaging Miyoshi’s wound.  “I intend to.  In a bit.  After I make everyone’s lunches.  But before that, I think that we should see about getting you a real bath.”

 

* * *

 

 

            There were several small metal tubs in the agency that could be used for bathing.  The smallest of which, was Emma’s, but was actually more of a laundry tub than a bathtub.  The one that Fukumoto rolled into the infirmary that afternoon was a little over three feet in diameter, and about two feet deep.  Not the kind of tub you took a luxurious soak in, but perfectly serviceable for getting oneself clean.  Fukumoto filled it halfway full, mostly by pouring small buckets of water that he’d filled in the infirmary sink into it, but also added a few soup pots full of boiling water that he’d heated on the stove near the end, to bring the overall temperature of the water from lukewarm to actually warm. 

            Miyoshi sighed as he lowered himself into the water, with Fukumoto’s assistance.  (And he was very pleased that Fukumoto had let him walk to the tub, only helping him get up out of bed, and helping him get into the tub, though he’d stayed very close just in case Miyoshi showed any signs of falling, the whole way there.)  “Thank you, Fukumoto.  This is bliss.”

            “We don’t seem to have your regular grooming products.”

            “No.  We wouldn’t.”  Miyoshi had bought them all out of pocket, hadn’t even tried to get Yuuki-san to foot the bill for his vanity.  “But I’m fine with what you all use.”  Miyoshi was just glad to finally get a real bath.  Hatano had been giving him sponge baths every other day since Sakuma had been banished from the infirmary, and Miyoshi had been grateful for those, but had still longed just to get under a showerhead, or into a tub of water and clean himself. 

            “I’ll wash your back and hair for you,” Fukumoto offered.

            “Please and thank you.”

            “I crossed the Atlantic by ship, then the United States by train, from New York to San Francisco.  Then I did a bit of gambling and got a pilot so indebted to me that he was positively happy to fly me across the Pacific in exchange for never having to see me again.”

            Miyoshi gave a surprised laugh, then winced.  Laughing was one of the few things that still made his chest hurt now. 

            Fukumoto filled a bucket with water from what was already in the tub and poured it carefully over Miyoshi’s head.  He poured the water at a good angle, so most of the water ended up flowing down Miyoshi’s back.

            “That’s the short version, at least.”

            “And the long version?”

            “Full of details that would bore you to sleep.”

            “Why do I get the feeling you’re omitting at least a few interesting details?” wondered Miyoshi.

            “Because you’re suspicious minded like that,” Fukumoto said tonelessly.

            “Hmm.  It’s good to have you home.”

            “Thank you.”

            It was nice having Fukumoto home.  With Hatano recently fallen sick, it would be Yuuki-san taking care of him now if Fukumoto hadn’t arrived home when he did.  And Yuuki had so many other tasks and responsibilities.  He wouldn’t have been able to indulge Miyoshi and spend as much time with him as Fukumoto was willing to.  He would have also made decisions geared toward caution, as Hatano had.  Fukumoto was only able to be so carefree now because Yuuki-san was well enough to split most tasks with.  And Miyoshi was glad, for more than just the obvious selfish reasons.

            With Fukumoto’s arrival, even with Hatano falling sick, it felt like they’d turned a corner.  Like they’d gotten past the worst of their challenges; illness, Miyoshi’s critical healing phase, and even that unspoken doubt that the others wouldn’t make it home.  Now things felt like everything was really going to be alright.  Yuuki-san was healthy enough to take care of Miyoshi even if Fukumoto fell sick.  Miyoshi was strong enough to move under his own accord, and his wound was healed past the point where he was in danger of it reopening or growing septic.  And the reality that the others would be home soon had set in.  For the first time it really felt like everything was going to be okay.

           

* * *

 

 

            Unlike the rest of the spies, Kaminaga and Amari were not given orders to flee Germany the next day and make their way home.  Lt. Colonel Yuuki’s instructions to them were to join the Japanese diplomatic mission as journalists.  Well, Amari as a journalist.  Kaminaga as his photographer.  They would leave for home in two months time, via airplane.  That was about the same amount of time it would take a normal civilian to make his way from Germany to Japan.  Kaminaga and Amari might very well beat some of their friends home and their trip would be relatively easy, or at least effortless on their part.

            But make no mistake, they were in no less danger than the other spies.  Or at least Kaminaga wasn’t.  He deliberately distanced his role from Amari’s, to keep him out of harm’s way if things went bad.  Because Kaminaga’s task was to take over Miyoshi’s spy network, at least for the two months he was there. 

            Amari had mixed feelings about having to wait so long in Germany, before returning home, but he did his best to hide this fact.  He understood Yuuki’s reasoning.  Since he’d adopted Emma and made it clear that she was his first priority now, Yuuki had been amazingly tolerant in adapting Amari’s duties.  Most of his work now was as a handler.  And he was completely off the table for deep cover assignments.  This would be the longest, most involved task that he’d had since the Hawaii mission, and for him it wasn’t even that dangerous.  He was simply to pretend to be an actual journalist.  Something he could do with ease.  His route home was already planned, so it took no effort on his part to arrange passage.  He would have preferred being allowed to leave immediately and try his hand at getting home to Emma as fast as possible, but there was risk involved in that too.  There always was when false identities were in play.  Yuuki had given him this easy way both because it was easy, and certain, and because there were others he needed home sooner.  Mainly Fukumoto and Tazaki.  The only two currently fit for any assignment he might need to give them.  They were probably both under orders to get home as quickly as possible.  Or perhaps one of them had been paired with Odagiri to lend him a hand in getting home since he was so out of practice with spy craft.  Yuuki wanted them all home safely.  That had never been in doubt.

            Kaminaga’s role was much riskier than Amari’s, and Amari had mixed feelings about this too.  He mostly felt guilty about it, though Kaminaga told him in no uncertain terms that he shouldn’t.  That there was no reason for them both to put themselves at risk over a one man job. 

            Because of Kaminaga distancing their roles, they didn’t see as much of each other as Amari would have liked.  Amari wished that they could make the best of their time here in Germany together.  Go out drinking, enjoy each other’s company, and the like, but Kaminaga was insistent.  Their roles knew each other professionally only. 

            Amari obeyed him, grudgingly.  Because when it came down to it he knew that Kaminaga was right.  So he didn’t invite Kaminaga with him when he went out.  Nor did he exchange more than a few words with him, except when professional circumstances required it.  So he didn’t know how Kaminaga’s tasks were going, or what he was doing at any given time.  But he was sure Kaminaga was doing well.  Amari trusted him.  And Yuuki-san trusted him.  No more than that really needed to be said. 

            They’d play their parts for the next two months.  Kaminaga would do what needed to be done with Miyoshi’s spy network.  Then they’d go home and smother their injured brother with more affection and attention than he could stand.

            It was something to look forward to. 


	12. Chapter 12

            Tending to a sick Hatano was easier than Yuuki had expected.  Mainly because Hatano was asleep nearly the entire time.  So much that it was actually a little worrying.

            Yuuki monitored his temperature carefully to make sure that his fever never got out of control.  On two occasions, he put ice bags beneath Hatano’s head, and over his forehead to bring his fever down before it could get high enough to be detrimental to his brain.  Honestly, neither time had probably been completely necessary, but Hatano’s brain had suffered too much trauma that year for Yuuki to want to take any chances.  Hatano slept soundly through it all.

            The only times he awoke were when Yuuki deliberately woke him up.  Once every six hours or so, Yuuki would rouse him by gently shaking his shoulder, and sitting him up, and would make Hatano drink a bit.  Only a tablespoon or two of water at a time for the first day, since he didn’t want Hatano’s stomach to rebel again.  But when Hatano was able to keep the water down, the second day, Yuuki began waking him every few hours and had him drink a little more water each time, and a bit of soup as well.

            Hatano seemed so confused each time he woke up.  Once, he tried to get out of bed, mumbling that he needed to do his chores.  Another time he mistook Yuuki for his father and was visibly afraid.  But most of the time he seemed to know who Yuuki was, if not where he was, and accepted the situation with groggy compliance, though confusion was evident in his wide, glassy eyes. 

            But aside from those times when Yuuki woke him up, Hatano slept nearly four days straight. 

            Considering how low maintenance that made him, Yuuki should have been able to get a lot of work done.  And he did . . . just not quite as much as he expected to.  He found himself getting up and checking on Hatano’s fever, sometimes only minutes after he’d deemed him alright for the hour.  And sometimes he was struck by (and gave into) the urge to just sit on the edge of his bed beside Hatano as the boy slept. 

            Familial affection was still something new to Yuuki.  It had snuck up on him, on the voyage home from France, when Hatano had been helpless from brain damage and amnesia.  Then it had stuck around even after Hatano had recovered to the point where he was more than self sufficient.  Trying to stamp his feelings down hadn’t worked.  So Yuuki had adapted.  Was still adapting.  The way he felt now was quite different than how he’d felt last time Hatano had been bedridden.  It took him longer than he liked to admit to recognize this newer feeling as pride.  Hatano really had done well, taking care of everything by himself for nearly two weeks.  He could not have asked for more from Hatano.  The way he’d handled the increasingly desperate situation really left nothing more to be desired. 

            Honestly, it gave Yuuki the bizarre desire to take him out for ice cream again.  Even though that reaction was completely inappropriate for the situation, all things considered.  But there was no denying it.  His boy had done well.  Now, Yuuki guessed it made him happy to see Hatano getting some well deserved rest . . . though that was somewhat tempered by the fact that he was only really resting since he had pretty much passed out . . .

            Well, it wasn’t like there was a shortage of excuses for why Yuuki spent more time monitoring his condition than was strictly necessary.  But he didn’t lie to himself.  Not about this.  He spent more time beside Hatano because he wanted to.

            He would have liked to check on Miyoshi too, but circumstances prevented him from doing so.  Yuuki knew that he wasn’t contagious anymore, but constant exposure to Hatano meant that he would need to thoroughly decontaminate himself before going to see Miyoshi.  Yuuki would have made time to work extra showers into his day for that, but there was also still unnecessary risk in that.  As long as there was any illness in the house, the fewer people who went into the infirmary, the better.

            He limited his exposure to Fukumoto as well, for this reason.  They barely crossed paths over the next few days, with Fukumoto spending his time in the kitchen, the lounge, and the infirmary, and Yuuki restricting himself to his room, the dorm, and Emma’s room.  He only entered the kitchen to retrieve meals for himself, Emma, Sakuma, and Hatano, though Hatano’s meals, the first few days, remained uneaten. 

            Fukumoto left him written updates in the kitchen, however, on Miyoshi’s condition, and what he had to say was all good.  Yuuki already knew from Hatano’s updates that Miyoshi’s wound had stayed clean and was healing well, but it was always nice to have a second opinion when he couldn’t verify it with his own eyes.

            It was also good to hear that Miyoshi was growing stronger every day, and that he was able to get out of bed now and move around the infirmary a bit.  Yuuki did feel the need to write back to Fukumoto with strict orders not to let Miyoshi leave the infirmary for any reason but an emergency.  He didn’t expect a repeat of what happened the last time, since Hatano was the only contagious person still in the house, and he was flat out unconscious, but there were other things that could go wrong.  Especially with a small child in the house.  He had no doubt that Miyoshi would be chomping at the bit to get out of the infirmary soon.  Maybe the memory of what had happened last time would hold it off for a few extra days, but not forever.  It was in all his spies’ nature to want to get out of a position of weakness as quickly as possible.  But Yuuki laid down the rules very clearly.  Until there was absolutely no illness in the house and Fukumoto had sterilized not just the dormitory, but the bathrooms, Emma’s rooms, and the classrooms that Sakuma and Hatano had used for either work space or sleep space before they got sick as well, Miyoshi was to remain in quarantine.

            He knew that Miyoshi would be bored with so much free time, only Fukumoto for company, and no change of scenery, but that would be a temporary condition.  Soon, once the rest of the house was clean and free of illness, Yuuki would put an end to Miyoshi’s boredom.  Miyoshi was one of only two spies that Yuuki was training in tasks related to D-Agency’s administration.  He would be able to delegate some of his own work to Miyoshi and knew that Miyoshi would be thankful for it.  When that time finally came.  But for the time being, Miyoshi would just have to cope with being bored.

 

* * *

 

 

            Miyoshi was so bored.  He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was so bored that he wanted to die, because as someone who had very nearly died, and had only been saved by friends who had gone to a hell of a lot of trouble and discomfort to save him, putting their own lives at risk, that would just be horrible taste.  But still.  Miyoshi was so bored.

            Part of it was that he was sleeping less.  His first week home, he’d needed a lot more sleep, as his body recovered from the injury that had nearly ended his life.  But now that he was so well mended, sleep didn’t come as easily, and he had many more hours of solitude to fill his days.

            Fukumoto tried to help where he could, but he had the household to run.  He did make time to indulge Miyoshi as much as he could, just as Hatano had, but with more waking hours in Miyoshi’s day . . . well.

            He read everything he could.  All the books and newspapers Hatano had brought in his first day.  Even though the newspapers were out of date, they were still news to Miyoshi.  And the books held his attention longer than anything else.  They had clearly all been chosen with care.  Several of them were murder mysteries which Miyoshi very much appreciated.  He didn’t remember ever saying that he liked them, in as many words, but he wasn’t surprised the others knew they were his favorites.  The one Kaminaga had recommended was particularly good, and much to Miyoshi’s chagrin, he hadn’t been able to come to the complete correct solution.  He got partway there, but the full truth eluded him.  Which made that novel instantly one of his favorites.  The others held his interest as well.  The nonfiction books too, especially the one on poisons, which Hatano had flagged pages in for newer substances that hadn’t been covered in their training.  But, like all the men of D-Agency, Miyoshi was a very fast reader.  It didn’t take long before he had torn through all of them, many of them twice. 

            He found himself longing for the time before his attempt at getting a shower had gotten Sakuma banned from the infirmary.  It had been very nice, having someone always with him.  Sakuma had been good company.  A far cry from the stuffy liaison who’d first shown up on their doorstep to help General Staff Offices to keep tabs on them.  Since Sakuma had started opening his mind, and his eyes, he had changed, and for the better.  Despite how much the others teased him, Miyoshi really did believe he had a chance with his crush . . . if he invested enough time.  Before he’d left for Germany, there had been some days when it didn’t seem worth it.  And then, while he was away, he felt almost sure that Sakuma would have backslid to the point where that door would have been closed.  It was a nice surprise to come home and find that it might still be open. 

            He’d noticed the changes in Sakuma.  How he seemed a bit more cunning, like he’d been taking to heart the small lessons that the other spies must have been teaching him about logic and human nature, and how to see beyond what you were just told about any given situation.  He was picking up shogi better than Miyoshi had expected him to.  While he would never have the temperament of a full fledged D-Agency spy, he definitely wasn’t a military dog that was too old to learn new tricks.

            Fukumoto kept Miyoshi updated on the status of the other people in the house, as best he could.  He didn’t have much contact with them, and Yuuki didn’t feel the need to fill him in, but he wasn’t a spy for nothing.  He could tell Sakuma’s condition was improving by the fact that he was eating all his meals, and by how Yuuki took an extra bowl of rice to him for lunch and dinner.  Where as Hatano’s meals had gone untouched the first half of the week he fell sick, except for his soup.  And Emma was feeling well enough to be picky with her food again.  Apparently she had eaten more when she was sick because she was more docile then, but now that she was better, was refusing to eat numerous Japanese dishes.  Yuuki-san didn’t ask him to do anything differently, and was probably content to just let Emma go until she got so hungry that she was willing to eat whatever they gave her, but Fukumoto was a softie and tried to cater to her.  Hatano had apparently baked plenty of bread before he fell sick, thinking ahead about Emma’s diet.  So Fukumoto was able to make her sandwiches and toast, and had a few other recipes in his repertoire that Emma was okay with.  Miyoshi wondered how long it would be before Yuuki-san stepped in and put a stop to this catering.

            Fukumoto also brought back weather reports, particularly ones that had to deal with the oceans around Japan.  When the others came home, both Miyoshi and Fukumoto knew it would be more likely they came home via boat.  This time of year, the Sea of Japan and East China Sea could be rough, but currently, storms didn’t seem to be too big of a problem. 

            A few days after he arrived home, Fukumoto began allowing Miyoshi to get up and walk around the infirmary for reasons other than just getting out of bed for a bath or for the toilet.  He monitored Miyoshi’s wound very carefully, making sure it didn’t pull too much and reopen, and stayed right by Miyoshi’s side, even after it became apparent that Miyoshi wasn’t dizzy or in danger of falling.

            The infirmary wasn’t exactly a large room.  There was only so far Miyoshi could go, but just being able to move around and walk amongst the beds under his own accord was nice.  It helped stave off some of his boredom.

            He wasn’t pleased, however, by how much effort simply walking now took.  It seemed that a little over two weeks was all it took for his well-toned muscles to weaken.  At first, simply walking around the infirmary made his muscles feel like he’d just gone for a mile long swim.  But it got better as he exercised, and slowly the strength began to return to his limbs. 

            It helped that his pain had diminished too, to very tolerable levels.  Sometimes the pain was even nonexistent.  Usually when he was just laying in bed, and not exercising the muscles that had been damaged, and those around the wound.  Fukumoto always checked his wound again carefully after every time Miyoshi got up out of bed, but it remained closed, and the tissue fusing it shut grew stronger by the day.

            Inevitably, the four walls of the infirmary started to seem like they were getting closer and closer as Miyoshi recovered.  What had started off as a welcome, if unfamiliar sight, started to feel claustrophobic and confining.  Miyoshi knew that it was in his head.  He thought that helped to keep the urge to jailbreak in check a little bit, but it wasn’t like he could hold it back forever.  Now that he was getting better, he wanted out.  He wanted to walk the length of the hall outside the infirmary, or rest in a chair in the library or lounge, instead of his bed in the infirmary.  He wanted to be useful again.  Maybe dry cutlery for Fukumoto after dinner was over, or help peel vegetables to prep for a meal.  And more than anything, he wanted to go outside.  He knew it would be windy, and cold, as winter had tightened its grasp on Japan, but he wanted it anyway. 

            Miyoshi held off on asking for as long as he could.  And when he finally did ask, wasn’t surprised when the answer was a regretful but firm no. 

            “Yuuki-san says you are to remain here until there is no illness in the house, and everything has been sanitized.”

            “I figured he would,” Miyoshi sighed.  “But I had to try.”

            “Soon,” Fukumoto said, with sympathetic eyes.  “I think Sakuma is nearly well.  And Hatano has started eating more than just soup.”

            “I’m glad to hear that,” said Miyoshi.  “And how is Yuuki-san?  Do you know?”

            “I haven’t seen him for a few days,” Fukumoto admitted.  “He times his trips to the kitchen so as not to come in contact with me, since he has been tending to Hatano.  I think he’s probably fine.  Busy, and stressed, but healthy now.”

            “I’m sure it’s a great help that you’re home.”

            “Yes.  But it will be a greater help when Hatano is well, so he can delegate some work to you.”

            “I look forward to that.”

            “I’m sure he does too.”

            “Do you think that will be before or after the others start arriving home?” Miyoshi wondered.

            “I would say before.”

            “So you doubt any of the others secured airfare?”

            “Could you have secured airfare?” Fukumoto asked.

            Miyoshi almost grimaced.  As much as he hated to admit it . . probably not.  “Possibly.”

            Fukumoto’s gaze was knowing.  Because it didn’t just take skills and charm to secure a ride in an airplane these days.  It took leverage.  And getting that leverage, that fast, was not easy.  Not even for a D-Agency spy.  It wasn’t just about winning at poker.  It was about finding the right target and knowing how far he needed to push and pull to goad his target over the edge, to get him to go all in.  Fukumoto excelled at everything about that process, from the gauging to the gambling.  Miyoshi was excellent at each skill as well, but knew he didn’t have the same touch as Fukumoto.

            “But it would be difficult,” Miyoshi allowed.  And what was difficult for him could very well be impossible for others.  Even others at D-Agency. 

            “Yes,” agreed Fukumoto. 

            “So they’ll most likely make it here by boat,” said Miyoshi. 

            “In a couple weeks.  Or perhaps a bit sooner.”

            “They are our friends for a reason.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Sakuma did his best to get over his illness as quickly as possible.  There was only so much he could do, and he knew it, but he did his best and tried anyway.  Resting and sleeping plenty was something kind of outside of his control.  The illness sapped him of strength and gave him little choice but to stay in bed for the first four or five days that he was sick.  And eating his meals . . . well, he did his best during the first few days, when his stomach was in constant revolt.  As much as he wanted to just push them aside, and wouldn’t have even cared that the food would have gone to waste, he forced himself to eat as much as he could.  He had sat in on D-Agency’s medical training, and several of their refreshers.  So he knew that you recovered faster from illness and injury if you ate and gave your body the nutrients and energy to heal itself.  Even if it made you nauseous and you gagged quite a bit, as long as you could keep it down.  He drank all the tea that Hatano brought him those first few days too, and as vile as it tasted, it always did make him feel a bit better afterwards, for an hour or two. 

            Then two things happened at once.  Hatano fell ill himself, and Fukumoto returned home.  Lt. Colonel Yuuki took over bringing Sakuma his meals after that.  When that happened, Yuuki brought Sakuma tea at meals, but not in between, as Hatano had.  Sakuma was tempted to ask for more tea, but in the end, did not.  Yuuki was even busier than Hatano had been, and Sakuma getting sick had been his own fault.  He hated to think that he was also responsible for Hatano getting sick, but he knew it was very possible that he was.  He knew Hatano had been expecting to get sick, but Emma was nearly better and probably not contagious anymore when Hatano finally did succumb.  Which meant Hatano had probably been infected by Sakuma.  Being a good patient and not bothering Yuuki more than he had to was the very least Sakuma could do to make up for it.

            Slowly, the disease loosened its hold on Sakuma.  And a few days after Fukumoto had returned, Sakuma felt well enough to get out of bed for more than just an occasional trip to the toilet.  Not that there were many places he could go.  He knew better than to go to the kitchen before he was completely well.  And knew Fukumoto had been sleeping in the lounge, to avoid illness and keep warm and reduce the chances of him getting sick as well.  Other communal places like the library and the classrooms weren’t good to go to either, so that he didn’t risk spreading the illness there.  So Sakuma mostly stayed in the dorm even though he did feel well enough to get up.  The only real difference was that he made a few more trips to the bathroom each day.  It was on one of those trips that he ran into Fukumoto for the first time since Fukumoto had returned.

            “Sakuma-san,” Fukumoto looked surprised, but pleased.  Though of course he kept his distance.

            “Fukumoto.”  Sakuma winced at how hoarse his voice sounded.  He didn’t realize how bad it had gotten, since he’d barely spoken the past few days.  “Welcome home.”

            “Thank you.  It’s good to be home,” said Fukumoto politely.  “How are you feeling?”

            “Much better . . . how’s Miyoshi?”

            “Doing better every day,” Fukumoto said, and he looked genuinely pleased.  “I’ve been letting him get out of bed and walk around the infirmary.  He’s healing well.”

            “I should keep my distance from you so he continues to do so,” Sakuma said, backing up a few steps and turning away before covering his mouth as he coughed.

            “Would you like some tea?” Fukumoto offered sympathetically.

            “No . . . thank you.  I know you have enough to do without catering to me.”

            “Boiling a bit of water for you is hardly catering to you.”

            Sakuma tried to smile.  “Maybe.  But we both know you shouldn’t be near me right now.  I might still be contagious.”

            “I’ll leave a tea tray for you outside the dorm.”

            “I just said –”

            “Sakuma-san.”

            Sakuma stopped speaking, partly because he was going to need to cough again very soon, and partly because there was an unfamiliar note in Fukumoto’s voice.

            “It’s alright to let your friends take care of you now and then,” Fukumoto finished.

            Sakuma felt like he should say something then.  Thank him.  Or maybe just bow.  Instead, he turned away and did his best to smother his coughs into his hands, so he wouldn’t risk infecting Fukumoto with any airborne contaminants.

            “I’ll go start the water now,” Fukumoto said, as Sakuma was still coughing.  Removing himself from the situation, but Sakuma couldn’t be offended.  Aside from it being practical and necessary, Fukumoto’s words from earlier were still ringing in his ears.

            _“It’s alright to let your friends take care of you now and then.”_

            Friends.  Fukumoto considered Sakuma his friend.

            Sakuma had never actually thought . . . he knew that the spies considered each other their friends.  Even though some of them didn’t always get along or see eye to eye.  But he thought they saw him as something else.  A comrade at best.  An annoyance more likely.  He never actually thought they would see him as a friend.  He thought he’d messed up any chance of that long ago, even before the Gordon Incident.

            But things had changed, it seemed.  At least with Fukumoto.  Could they have changed with the others too, and Sakuma not have realized it with them either? 

            Sakuma wouldn’t be opposed to that.  Not at all.  It would make him feel a bit rueful about being dense, but that was nothing new for him, when he was around the spies.  And . . . he could live with that.  He didn’t always need to be the smartest person in the room.  And things had changed quite a bit, now that he thought about it.  It had been a long time since one of them had spoken down to him too horribly.  Even when he knew he probably deserved it . . . like that night Emma had thrown up on him.  Sakuma had been surprised how tolerant Hatano had been.  And Miyoshi had been very patient and surprisingly supportive in teaching him how to play shogi. Maybe the others all really had changed their ways of thinking about him after all . . .


	13. Chapter 13

            The moment they got off their boat in Siam, well, now Thailand, Tazaki led his two companions directly to the train station.  It was late afternoon, and there was no guarantee that there would be any trains departing to the north, or northwest that evening, but if there were, the general consensus was that they wanted to be on it.  Getting a motel room here in Thailand wouldn’t be difficult, and it definitely would have been nice to rest for a day or two, but they hadn’t become spies because they wanted comfortable lives.

            They were in luck.  There was a night train headed northwest.  And while the train wasn’t a nice enough one to have sleeper carriages, it turned out not to be too heavily booked.  The three spies were able to get a compartment to themselves.

            Tazaki collapsed into his seat and closed his eyes as soon as he finished stowing his luggage in the overhead wrack.  It was heavier than it had been before Saudi Arabia.  It seemed he, Odagiri, and Jitsui had all had the same idea about bringing home nonperishable foods.  It made for heavy luggage, but none of them regretted it.  “Wake me up in the morning.”

            “You should be so lucky.  You’ll end up waking yourself up when the train departs,” Jitsui said.  And Tazaki could hear him stacking his luggage in front of the compartment door, so if anyone tried to open it, it would topple over and wake them all up. 

            “Don’t remind me,” groused Tazaki.  Some days, D-Agency’s conditioning seemed like more trouble than it was worth.  They couldn’t exactly sleep soundly anymore.  All of them were hair triggered to wake up at the slightest sounds now, or the slightest change in their environment, be that vibration or airflow patterns.  It always made sleeping on boats difficult.  Because while the rocking of the boat could and did take on patterns, there was always the occasional break in those patterns, and those breaks tended to wake them up.  Sleeping on the train would present similar problems.  On the straights, they’d be fine, until their speed dropped so they could turn a bend or go through a tunnel. 

            “Just sleep while you can,” Odagiri said.  “We all should.”  It would be over an hour before the train departed.  Enough time for a short nap, though the footsteps of their fellow passengers in the hall outside their compartment could be problematic.

            “I’m past ready to be home,” Tazaki muttered.  “I want my own bed.  And some of Fukumoto’s home cooking.”

            “I’m sure you could go for some of that too, Odagiri.”

            Jitsui’s tone had been quite innocent, as it always was, but it made Tazaki open one eye to see Odagiri’s reaction.

            “I could,” Odagiri said neutrally.  And perhaps a bit stiffly.  “Fukumoto is an excellent cook.  And home cooking is always good.”

            “Because the secret ingredient is love,” Jitsui said with a straight face.

            “That must be why Emma is such a fan of Hatano’s,” Tazaki commented, and was pleased to see a slight twitch in the muscles around Jitsui’s mouth.  “She loves when he cooks for her.  She loves him.”

            “The rule of ages,” Jitsui said simply.

            “She’s vowed to marry him.  Amari is less than pleased.”  And Tazaki was willing to bet that Amari wasn’t the only one less than pleased by Emma’s declaration.  Everyone knew Jitsui had it bad for Hatano, except perhaps Hatano himself.  Tazaki suspected that may have changed recently, but if it had, Jitsui was being tight lipped about it.  Tazaki had been trying to figure out if the relationship between D-Agency’s two youngest spies had changed since he picked them up in Hakone over a month ago.  It would be easier if he could see the two of them together more.  And he would, in good time.  Until then, he enjoyed sounding out the waters and trying to get Jitsui to slip up.

            “I wonder how long it will take Yuuki-san to put a stop to that,” Jitsui mused, rather than comment on Emma’s desire to marry Hatano directly.

            Tazaki deliberately misinterpreted.  “Somehow I don’t think Yuuki-san cares about Emma’s crush on him.”

            “I meant about catering to her picky eating,” Jitsui said dryly.

            “Mmm hmm,” Odagiri said.

            Jitsui shot him a look that was a little too angelic.  Which meant that it was a promise of retribution in the future.  It was probably meant for Tazaki too, to be honest, but Tazaki could handle Jitsui.  After these past few years, Jitsui had grown fond enough of the other spies that he wasn’t too terribly sadistic toward them anymore.  Plus, when they got home, Jitsui would either be happy enough to let it go . . . or too depressed for past promises of revenge to matter. 

            It was all going to come down to Miyoshi in the end.  Whether he lived, and all this had been worth it . . . or died, and made everything they had done since leaving Japan, every hardship they’d endured, all for nothing. 

            Tazaki wanted to believe Miyoshi would be fine.  And he had a lot of reasons to support that belief.  Namely, that Yuuki had been with him.  If anyone could keep Miyoshi alive, it would be him.  And Miyoshi had survived up until they were able to retrieve him.  That supported the theory that, with treatment, he would recover.  Plus, Miyoshi was young, and before the accident, had been healthy and strong.  Everything was in his favor for recovery.  But the cloud of doubt wouldn’t be cast away until he’d seen his friend with his own eyes.  They didn’t talk about it, but Tazaki knew the others felt the same.  They were all worried. 

            Soon, they would know for sure.  A few days more spent riding trains, and then a few days more at sea would see them home in Japan.  Then they’d know.  And that scared Tazaki more than he wanted to admit.  As long as they didn’t know, they could still hope.  But after they knew for sure . . . that was it.  Good or bad, they would have to accept it . . . but Tazaki wasn’t ready to face that kind of loss.  He’d never thought, when he joined D-Agency, that he would form these kinds of attachments.  He’d thought the point of spy training was to rid themselves of those, but somewhere along the line, things had changed. 

            Tazaki wasn’t ready to lose a brother.

            “Tazaki?  Tazaki!” Tazaki jolted as a rolled up newspaper bounced off his head.

            “What?” Tazaki asked, only now realizing that Jitsui had been trying to say something to him.  Odagiri looked on, behind Jitsui, worried.

            Jitsui frowned at him and picked up his newspaper.  “Worried about what Yoru’s done to your pigeons in your absence?” he asked, trying to inject levity into the situation.

            “Not too much.  When Hatano’s not around, Yoru usually isn’t either.”

            Jitsui gave him a look, and Tazaki saw his mistake.

            “Oh.  Right.”

            “You probably should go to sleep, if you’re misremembering details like that.  Or maybe you’re just getting old.”

            Tazaki smirked and closed his eyes.  “Wake me up in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Everything was really hazy but warm for . . . for what seemed like a long time, but Hatano didn’t know for sure how much time was passing.  He drifted in and out of . . . not really consciousness but . . . states of semi-awareness.  Sometimes things were clearer than others.  But mostly it was hazy and memories were hard to hold onto.

            Some part of him realized he was sick.  Which explained the haziness and why his throat ached.  But when he finally regained full consciousness (after what he would soon learn was four days of nearly solid sleep) he felt more confused than anything.

            The room was unfamiliar.  The bed was unfamiliar.  But the smell of both was very familiar.  It smelled like an old, but well kept up building.  A bit musky, but clean . . . like D-Agency.  And the sheets, while not the army issued ones they used on the beds in the dorm, had been washed with the same soap they used for their laundry in D-Agency.  There were other scents in the air too that were familiar and comforting, faint, but lingering.  Tobacco smoke and cologne.  Both of them Yuuki-san’s usual brands. 

            So, paired with the fact that Yuuki-san was asleep in the chair next to the bed he was currently in, and that what Hatano could see of the room in the dim light was spartan but carefully kept, Hatano was able to make a fairly educated guess about where he was.  And as he did, more memories came back to him.  The Germany trip.  The flight home.  The illness in the house.

            “Yuu –” Hatano’s voice seized as he tried to speak and triggered a coughing fit.  Yuuki-san woke instantly, and the next thing Hatano knew, his mentor was lifting him into a sitting position, a glass of water in one hand, waiting patiently for Hatano’s coughs to subside enough for him to drink.

            “You’re alright.  Just breathe.  Just breathe.”

            Hatano waved one hand, trying to signify he understood as he got his coughing under control.  As soon as he did, the glass was pressed to his lips for him to take a sip.  Hatano grabbed it with his own hands, so he could hold it himself and took several gulps before realizing that might not be the smartest course of action.  He remembered throwing up . . . he didn’t know how long ago that had been though.  But gulping down the water had its intended effect.  It cleared his throat enough for him to breathe easily, and stop coughing.

            “Miyoshi?” he asked Yuuki, trusting his spymaster to know what he wanted to know.

            “Is well,” Yuuki told him, a slight smile on his face.  “He’s avoided falling sick.  Fukumoto has been taking care of him, and has been limiting his own contact with Sakuma, Emma, and myself, though likely none of us are contagious.”

            “Just me,” Hatano said ruefully and tried to smirk.  He had the feeling that he didn’t quite manage to pull it off.  Partly because he had suddenly started shivering.

            “You’ve been asleep most of the past four days,” Yuuki said, taking the cup from Hatano’s suddenly shaky hands, and pulling the sheets and blankets up to his shoulders.  He rested the back of his hand against Hatano’s forehead to gauge his temperature.  “You’re still feverish.”

            Hatano made a noise that he hoped would be taken for agreeing.  Well, he knew it would.  Yuuki-san was smart, and even Hatano wasn’t brash enough to try to argue with that fact considering his position.  “Sorry . . . for waking you.”

            “Don’t be.  Now, what do you need?” Yuuki asked. 

            Hatano considered.  He wasn’t hungry.  But his eyes fell to the water glass in Yuuki’s hand.  Yuuki held it out and let him take it.  Hatano instantly felt the chill on his skin once his arm was out from underneath the blankets, but suppressed his shivers.  He sipped the water carefully and nearly laughed as he realized it was tepid.  Which meant that the room’s temperature was warm, even if Hatano couldn’t feel it.  Yuuki must have been keeping the fire well stoked.

            “I’ve woken you every few hours during the daytime and given you water to keep you hydrated,” Yuuki told him.  “But the only food you’ve had for the past four days has been soup.  Are you hungry now?”

            Hatano considered then shook his head.

            “Do you need the toilet?”

            “ . . . Yes.”  Hatano didn’t actually have to go, but didn’t think he should pass up the chance now that he was awake.  The last thing he wanted was an embarrassing accident in Yuuki’s bed of all places.  “Might want to doublecheck the halls first.  Make sure no one’s sneaking to the bathroom for a shower.”

            “Sakuma has not been permitted reentry to the infirmary.  And Fukumoto knows better.”

            True.  Hatano peeled back the blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  Yuuki-san was there to steady him, but Hatano was pleased by how well he was able to balance on his own.  He was definitely weaker than he was used to being, but not a dizzy, stumbling mess, which was always a plus, especially in front of his boss.  He managed to make it to the bathroom, then back to Yuuki’s room without any embarrassing faceplanting, though Yuuki stayed by his side, watching him like a hawk, and ready to grab him if he looked too shaky.

            “Hands up,” Yuuki told him once he’d sat back down on the bed.

            Hatano blinked at him, confused, then saw that Yuuki had retrieved a clean sleep shirt from his wardrobe.  He raised his arms above his head, and Yuuki pulled the shirt he’d been wearing for the past four days over his head, then helped him into the clean one, helping him thread his arms through the sleeves, then buttoning it in the front for him, even though Hatano could have done that himself.  For a moment, Hatano felt a stab of nostalgia.  Yuuki had helped him like this on the Hakusan Maru, on the way home from France. 

            “Do you feel like you could try eating a bit of food?” Yuuki asked.  “Or at least drinking some tea to clear your throat?”

            “ . . . I’ll try.”  Yuuki-san could probably guess what Hatano’s hesitation meant.  He wasn’t hungry.  But he’d try.  He knew how healing from illnesses worked.  “Yuuki-san, have any of the others made it home?”

            “Only Fukumoto.  But it’s only been four days since he arrived, and he crossed the entire Pacific via plane.  Tazaki, Jitsui, and Odagiri are traveling together.  I doubt they’d find passage by air for all three of them . . . and Kaminaga and Amari will be returning when the diplomatic mission returns.  We’ll not see them for over a month.”

            “Oh.”

            “That does not leave this room.”

            “Of course,” Hatano quickly agreed.  He’d suspected that Kaminaga’s order might have been to remain in Germany and take over Miyoshi’s spy network, but he was surprised that Yuuki had confirmed this to him.  As Yuuki left to go get him something to eat, Hatano pulled the blankets back around himself to get warm again.  Four days spent asleep.  Yet now, he felt surprisingly, not terrible.  Sick, yes, but if he had to fend for himself, he was fairly sure he could.  Maybe he should have offered to go get his food for himself.  No.  He shouldn’t be in the kitchen when he was very possibly contagious. 

            Hatano shivered and looked toward the window.  The blackout curtains were drawn, so he couldn’t see what it was like outside, but he could guess.  He could hear the patter of rain against the roof and the glass of the window.  So rainy and windy.  And night.  Otherwise Yuuki would have had the curtains cracked instead of leaving a candle burning on his desk.  He’d left that light burning, Hatano knew, so that if Hatano woke up, he wouldn’t panic and potentially cause trouble as he struggled to figure out where he was.

            Hatano turned his attention away from the curtained window and looked around the rest of the room.  Now that he was more aware, and things had come back to him, he did recognize the room.  Not that he had spent much time in here, but he had been taking care of Yuuki when Yuuki was sick.  Before that, he had never actually been in Yuuki’s personal quarters, but he did recognize them now that he could think clearly.  There wasn’t much here.  Just a desk, that was a little too neat, and the bed that Hatano was sitting in right now.  On one side of the room was a wardrobe and next to that were some built in shelves, and a few of those shelves held books.  The rest were empty.  One of the things they had learned, in their training, was how to gauge the type of person someone was by their living space, but this . . . well, Yuuki never made things easy for them.

            His sheets were warm though.  Warmer than the dorm issued ones.  Hatano remembered thinking about that when Yuuki-san had first put him to bed here, when he first got sick.  Yuuki’s nightshirts were warmer too.  The luxuries that he allowed himself were practical.  And not obvious as first glance.  Hatano was just grateful that Yuuki had decided to share.  He couldn’t imagine how horrifically cold he’d be right now it Yuuki had sent him back to the dorm, or back to the classroom where he’d been sleeping.

            He knew why Yuuki hadn’t though.  That reasoning was practical too.  He wanted the dorm and the classrooms that Hatano and Sakuma had spent time in before they got sick to be sterilized as quickly as possible.  As soon as Yuuki deemed Sakuma and Emma no longer contagious, Fukumoto would be put to work cleaning, and doing laundry.  Knowing Yuuki-san, he’d want all the sheets and blankets on all the beds cleaned.   Hatano shuddered at the thought of all that laundry, all at once, and felt guiltily grateful that he would be exempt from it.

            “Are you still cold?” Yuuki asked, returning with a breakfast trey.

            “Er . . . a little.”  Yuuki’s blankets were nice and warm, and very good at insulating and preserving body heat.  Not to mention, the room was probably already warmer than Yuuki-san had ever kept it in the winter before.  “But I’m getting warmer.”

            Yuuki still looked mildly concerned, but didn’t immediately go to stoke the fire.  He sat down beside Hatano on the bed, and carefully sat the breakfast tray in Hatano’s lap.  It wasn’t much.  And for that, Hatano was very grateful.  He didn’t know how food was going to affect him and he wasn’t hungry anyway.  But he thought he could manage the bowl of steaming egg and noodle soup that Yuuki had put before him.  It actually did look good, now that he was looking at it.  And the tea was his tea blend.  Zhenghe Gonfu.    Somehow, he wasn’t surprised Yuuki-san knew that was his favorite.

            “Thank you,” Hatano told his boss.  He picked up the bowl carefully, held it to his lips, and sipped.  The flavors were milder.  Meant for someone whose stomach might rebel against stronger flavors.  The heat of the liquid felt very good against his throat, and the noodles had been cooked very soft, so they’d be easy on a weakened stomach.    And the eggs fortified it, added more calories and nutrients.  This had Fukumoto’s name written all over it.  And Hatano was grateful.  “This is good,” he told Yuuki after a few sips.  And he didn’t think that it was his imagination that his voice sounded stronger.

            “Eat what you can.  But don’t force yourself.”

            Hatano nodded and sipped from the bowl again.  “So everything in the house . . . is good?”

            “Yes.  We’ve turned a corner, so to speak.”

            “So as long as Miyoshi doesn’t get sick before I’m better . . . everything will be fine?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then should I maybe go to a safehouse until I’m better?” Hatano asked. 

            An odd look crossed Yuuki’s face.  “No.”

            “It’s practical –”

            “You only just woke after being asleep for four days straight.”

            “But I’m feeling strong enough now that I think I can take care of myself –”

            “No,” Yuuki said flatly.  “I’m not going to risk you sleeping another four days straight and dying of dehydration because your fever’s overheated your body, and no one was there to wake you and get fluids into you.  You’ll stay where I can keep an eye on you.”  His tone made it clear that arguing this further would be unwise.

            “Okay,” Hatano relented.  “And . . . thank you.  I’m sorry for causing you more work.”

            “You haven’t,” Yuuki told him. 

            “Maybe not compared to the wreck I was on the Hakusan Maru,” was on the tip of Hatano’s tongue, but something made him hold that back.  He wasn’t sure what.  Maybe it was something in Yuuki-san’s mannerisms.  He just had the feeling that Yuuki didn’t want to hear anything to the contrary of what he’d just said . . . even though that was clearly a lie.  Waking him up every few hours to force feed him liquids was clearly more work.  And stealing Yuuki’s bed had clearly caused him some trouble, if he was sleeping in a chair.  But . . . Yuuki-san didn’t seem to mind . . . and while Hatano did feel a bit bad about causing Yuuki more work and stealing his bed, it was also really nice that Yuuki had done all that for him.  Hatano didn’t want to say anything that might take away from that, or seem demeaning.  “Thank you,” he mumbled again, instead.

            “Eat your soup,” Yuuki told him gruffly.  “What you can, at least.”

            Hatano nodded and sipped from his bowl again.  He would finish the bowl, if he could.  His tea as well, so that he would stay hydrated, and his body would have the energy to heal from this disease.  Then he’d go back to sleep, so he’d be out of Yuuki’s way, and his body could keep healing.  He needed to get well as fast as he could.  It was the least he could do, to repay Yuuki-san for taking care of him like this.

 

* * *

 

 

            “Hatano is finally eating more than just soup,” Fukumoto reported to Miyoshi when he brought him his lunch.  “Last night, Yuuki-san finally served him some of the egg noodle soup I made, for when he could manage more than just liquids.  Then, for breakfast, he took him more of it, and a bowl of rice.”

            “Good,” Miyoshi said.  “When he’s no longer contagious, hopefully Yuuki-san will let me out of this box.”

            Fukumoto smirked.  He knew Miyoshi didn’t really think this was all about him.  He was annoying like that.  But that was an annoyance Miyoshi could live with. 

            He smiled and stretched before reaching out to take his tray from Fukumoto.  Tinned fish with thickened soy sauce, a bowl of rice, pickled vegetables, and a few pieces of tamagoyaki.  Fukumoto was definitely trying to heal Miyoshi with food these days.  Most of his meals now included two protein heavy dishes.  Miyoshi appreciated the sentiment. 

            “Sakuma-san is doing better too.  His cough persists, but tea helps.  I’ve been leaving more of it outside the dorm to help him heal faster,” Fukumoto stated.  “Emma-chan, I believe, is completely better.  In my last report to Yuuki-san, I asked him to check her thoroughly.  If he clears her, I will be allowed to spend time with her again.  She’s been a very good girl, staying in her room, and only playing with Frate and her dolls.”

            “And the cat?” Miyoshi asked.

            “Yoru comes and goes.  But several times, I’ve caught him sleeping outside the door to Yuuki-san’s room.  He knows Hatano is in there.”

            “But knows better than to cross the Demon King,” said Miyoshi.

            “He’s grown on Yuuki-san, quite a bit.  I think he might just know something is wrong with Hatano and that he shouldn’t bother him right now.”

            “I think you give that animal too much credit.”

            Fukumoto just smiled and sat down as Miyoshi began eating.

            The food was good, as always.  Today it tasted even better.  Maybe because Miyoshi was in a good mood.  It had been a bit worrying that Hatano hadn’t been eating the past few days, and Miyoshi hadn’t been able to help feeling a bit guilty about his unintentional part in running Hatano ragged before he fell sick. 

            “Before Hatano got sick, did he talk to you about Yuuki-san much?”

            “Hmm?  Not especially,” Miyoshi said.  “He let me know when Yuuki-san got sick.”

            “But did he say anything else about Yuuki-san?”

            Miyoshi tried to remember.  “Nothing special.  Why do you ask?”

            “No reason,” said Fukumoto, straight faced.

            “Was there something he should have said?” Miyoshi asked suspiciously.

            “Not in particular.”

            “Then why did you ask?”

            “Curiosity.”

            “I’m going to figure it out, you know,” said Miyoshi dryly.

            “I know.”

            “Then why not simply tell me?”

            Fukumoto smiled cryptically.  “Eat.  Before your lunch gets cold.”

 

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

            The bug that Yuuki-san brought home to D-Agency was particularly wearying, and recovering from it was agonizingly slow.  On what was actually day five of the disease for Hatano (though it felt like the first full day since he’d spent the first four unconscious) he managed to down two bowls of Fukumoto’s egg and noodle soup and a bowl of rice.  The first bowl was the one he ate when he woke Yuuki in the very early morning hours, closer to the middle of the night.  The second bowl, and the rice, he ate at the normal breakfast time.  Then he fell asleep again before what would have been lunch was served.  He woke the next day around lunch.  So another twenty-four hours or so had been spent asleep.  Yuuki-san seemed concerned.  Hatano tried to assure him that it was nothing to worry about.  When he’d been sick as a child, his father had always just let him sleep it off.  Yuuki did not seem convinced.

            Hatano managed to down another bowl of egg and noodle soup, and a bowl of rice.  Then he managed to get a shower.  He kept it quick, since Yuuki accompanied him to the bathroom again, and stood by to make sure he didn’t collapse, and Hatano didn’t want to waste his time.  Back in Yuuki’s room, and redressed, this time in his own clean sleep clothes, Hatano felt like falling back to sleep for another day or two.  Only the evident worry in Yuuki-san’s eyes stopped him.  His throat hurt worse for a little bit after that.  It felt tighter, and Hatano had a bit of a hard time breathing.  Yuuki went and got him some tea, then sat beside him while he drank it, and until he could assure him that he would be alright.  His boss returned to his desk to work then, but Hatano noticed his eyes drifting over to him every few minutes, making sure that Hatano had not started spontaneously asphyxiating. 

            He managed to stay conscious until just after a dinner of okayu with eggs cooked into it, before passing out again.

            The next day was better.  Or at least, Hatano stayed awake for nearly all of it.  While he would have rather been sleeping his illness off, Yuuki-san at least seemed pleased, which seemed like a fair trade off to Hatano, all things considered.  He awoke in time for breakfast and stayed awake until just after dinner.  He didn’t feel too bad.  Just tired all day, and not exactly good.  From there, it was all uphill.  Each day, he felt a bit better than the last.  His cough lingered, but he could tell it was getting better.  He learned that Emma and Sakuma had both been deemed healthy once again by Yuuki.  And he cajoled Yuuki-san into letting him read Fukumoto’s daily reports on Miyoshi’s condition.  Sadly, none of them had anything embarrassing in, and weren’t very good blackmail material, but he’d had to try.

            He learned that Fukumoto had begun the long and difficult task of doing all of D-Agency’s laundry, starting with the sheets in the infirmary, to make sure no contamination spread to Miyoshi.  D-Agency was warmer than usual for the next few days, since the sheets had to be hung to dry, after being wrung out.  And the only place to hang them, now that winter had set in, was in D-Agency itself.  Fukumoto had to wash and hang them in batches, which took several days.  Hatano’s fever kept him from being able to feel the temperature difference, but he was sure everyone else appreciated it.

            He also learned that Miyoshi was able to walk around now.  He wasn’t allowed out of the infirmary yet, would not be until Hatano was completely well, and no one else was sick.  But it was good to know that he could get on his feet now, if he had to. 

            Seven days after he’d woken up sick for the first time, Hatano finally felt okay again.  The only remaining symptom of the illness was his cough, just like for everyone else who’d gotten sick from that disease.  He managed it by drinking lots of tea and soup.  If he could have, he would have had soup and only soup for every meal, because that helped his throat and he really wasn’t hungry.  Yuuki-san would not allow that though.  Which was probably for the best.  Hatano could tell he’d lost weight by how his clothes were fitting him more loosely.  He’d been surprised the first time he got dressed in actual clothes again, and had double checked to make sure they really were his, and that Yuuki hadn’t accidentally brought him Jitsui’s.  He should have known that Yuuki wouldn’t make a mistake like that, but still had a hard time believing how much weight he’d lost. 

            It took three more days after that before Yuuki finally deemed him well, with no possibility of being contagious anymore.  He’d probably actually been fine for a couple days, but no one wanted to take any chances, Hatano least of all.  He remembered how close to death Miyoshi had been when they found him.  Which was why he waited one more day before going to see Miyoshi.

            His friend was in the lounge when Hatano finally made his way to see him.  Sitting by the fire and wrapped up in a blanket.

            “You’re not cold, are you?” Hatano asked, concerned. 

            “Hmm?  Oh, no,” said Miyoshi.  “But bundling up appeases Fukumoto’s mother hen streak.”

            Hatano snorted and slumped into the chair by Miyoshi’s.  “So.  You somehow managed not to die without me.  Good work.”

            “You’re not the only one in D-Agency capable of being a nursemaid.  Not everything revolves around you.”

            “I don’t want to hear that from the resident narcissist,” sniped Hatano, but he had a grin on his face, and Miyoshi was smiling sardonically. 

            It really was good to see him again.  Even better to see him looking so healthy.

            “You look horrible, by the way,” Miyoshi commented, as though he’d read Hatano’s mind and decided to be contrary.

            “That’s like the pot calling the kettle black,” lied Hatano easily.  “Have you seen your skin lately?”

            Miyoshi scowled.  “They won’t let me go outside.  Yesterday was the first time they let me out of the infirmary at all.”

            “They were probably afraid you’d scare Frate with that sallow skin of yours.  And obviously they can’t let you out of the house looking like that.  What would the neighbors think?”

            “I think I liked you better when you were asleep.  And elsewhere.”

            Hatano gave a smug smile and stretched. 

            “In all seriousness, you are alarmingly thin,” Miyoshi said, settling back.  “No one else lost that much weight from their illness.”

            “I’ll gain it back,” Hatano promised.  “I need to get back to fighting weight.  Hopefully by the time Odagiri and Jitsui start their physical reconditioning I’ll be back to normal so I can join them.”

            “You think Yuuki-san will let you?”

            “He should have no problems with me working out, as long as I’m healthy across the rest of the board.”

            Miyoshi raised an eyebrow.

            “What?  My head injuries are old and well on their way to fully healing.  As long as I don’t take another knock to the head, Yuuki-san’s not going to care if I’m running or swimming.  Especially with the others’ supervision.”

            “Perhaps not.  As long as you’re back at ‘fighting weight,’ as you put it,” Miyoshi said.  “Which shouldn’t be a problem.  Not after the first time Fukumoto gets a look at you.”

            Hatano grimaced.  “Well, what about you?  I’ve read Fukumoto’s updates on your condition.  Your scar’s not pulling too much with you up and about now?”

            “No.  It’s healed strong.”

            “So how long until you’re useful again?”

            Miyoshi smirked.  “There are many ways for one of my talents to be useful.  Yesterday Yuuki-san gave me some administrative work.  So to answer your question, I already am.”

            Hatano gave a soft laugh. 

            “Out of curiosity, do you have any idea how long it will take the others to make their way home?”

            “How would I?” asked Hatano.

            “You were the one who did their final check ins, before everyone scattered, were you not?”

            “Hmm, I wonder,” Hatano said.

            “I’m not asking for their travel itineraries,” Miyoshi said.  “Just a general idea of when we might expect to see them.  If you know.”

            Miyoshi was trying to bait him, Hatano knew.  And it was a good attempt too.  None of the spies liked to admit they didn’t know something.  And Miyoshi probably had very strong suspicions about what Hatano did know.  But Yuuki-san had trusted Hatano to keep his mouth shut about this to everyone.  Even his precious successor.

            “Can anyone really predict what one of us is going to do?” Hatano asked.

            “So you do know something.”

            “Even if I did, and I’m not saying I do, it wouldn’t mean much now, would it?  Traveling these days is crazy.  Especially in Europe.”  Which was true.  Plus, if Jitsui, Odagiri, and Tazaki had continued to travel together, it would likely slow them down.  If one of them split off, he’d likely get home faster, but it wasn’t like Hatano could predict if circumstances would force them to do that or not.  While he did know for sure that Kaminaga and Amari would be flying home with the diplomatic mission when it ended, he certainly wouldn’t be breaking Yuuki-san’s trust and revealing that. 

            “True,” Miyoshi conceded, though by his expression, he clearly wasn’t convinced.

            “You know, it just occurred to me that I still owe you a game of shogi.”  The blatant change of subject spoke volumes in and of itself.  “Care to play now?”

            “Depends,” said Miyoshi shrewdly.  “Are we playing for stakes?”

            Hatano shook his head.  Sorry, Miyoshi, but he wouldn’t be gambling away that confidential information either.  “Only for bragging rights.”

            “Well, if you insist on being boring, I suppose I’ll humor you.”

            “D-Agency could use a little boring, after everyone’s home safe,” said Hatano, as he stood to go retrieve the shogi board.  “By then, I think we’ll all have had enough excitement for the winter.” 

 

* * *

 

 

            Odagiri had lost track of how long they’d been traveling.  Sure, he could have asked Jitsui and Tazaki, who probably knew how long it had been since they got on their first train in Germany, down to the hour, but that wasn’t something he could do lightly anymore.  D-Agency spies were expected to keep track of things like that, and Odagiri needed to get back in practice at being one of them.  Which meant not revealing weakness or ineptitude so casually. 

            It had been upward of three weeks, Odagiri knew for certain.  Maybe a month?  Probably just shy of a month.  After getting on the train in Thailand, they’d ridden north for several days before reaching a port.  From there, they’d sailed to Tokyo.  Then they’d gotten a cab.  They took it to a motel in the inner city, not too far from D-Agency.  Then they’d done a bit of surveillance and made sure they didn’t have a tail.  Then, finally, they took a roundabout way home, just to make sure they weren’t being followed and to check the spots of numerous places where little signs would have been left for them if something was amiss at D-Agency.  But nothing was amiss.  No red flags warning them away from D-Agency were anywhere to be seen, and no one was following them.  There was no reason for them to believe there would be, but they were trained to take every precaution nevertheless.

            It was late afternoon when they made it home.  Dark was just starting to fall, which meant curtains were being drawn and lights were being hidden.  Which was a shame.  Tokyo after dark had once been so beautiful, before the need for blackouts. 

            But with or without the glow of lights in its windows, D-Agency was always a beautiful sight.  Seeing it again now, for the second time since returning from Manchuria, gave Odagiri another pang to the heart.  Because D-Agency was more than just an impressive, tall, brick building with a wooden sign playing into its façade.  D-Agency was the first place that had ever really felt like home to Odagiri.  Now, he felt like such a fool for leaving.

            Nervousness thrummed through Odagiri as he, Tazaki, and Jitsui entered.  He . . . had not really spoken to any of the others, or explained himself.  He didn’t know where he stood with them anymore, or if they would accept him back.  There was a very big difference between being willing to work with him in an emergency, and welcoming him back into the fold.  And Yuuki-san . . . he’d barely even laid eyes on his boss since returning from Manchuria.  There had only been a very brief reunion in Germany, and Yuuki-san had been focused on relaying the plan to all of them, and hadn’t spoken to Odagiri personally.  Odagiri couldn’t help but be worried now that his desertion would not be taken so lightly, now that everything was back under control.

            “I’m home,” Tazaki called out right after the door shut behind them, and Odagiri found himself echoing the sentiments.

            “I’m home.”

            As they removed their shoes, they heard footsteps in the hall.  Moments later, Fukumoto appeared.  His gaze skimmed over all of them, as though checking to make sure they all still had all their limbs attached, and that no one showed signs of injury, illness, or hunger.  They finally settled on Odagiri, and held such warmth that Odagiri found himself breathing a sigh of relief.  At least he knew where he stood with Fukumoto now.  His closest friend bore him no ill will.

            “Welcome home,” Fukumoto said warmly.

            “Miyoshi?” Tazaki asked.

            “In the lounge.  Reading, I think.”

            “So he’s recovering well?” Odagiri asked.

            “Very well.  He can walk again now, and dress himself.  His wound healed cleanly, and he should make a full recovery.”

            “Good,” Jitsui said.  “And Hatano?  He’s home too?”

            “He’s around here somewhere.  I’m sure he’ll appear as soon as he hears your voice.”

            “I think he’s upstairs, actually,” said Miyoshi, entering the kitchen slowly, but with a smile on his face.  “Welcome home.”

            “Miyoshi.  Good to see you again,” said Tazaki, a blinding smile on his face.

            “And you.”

            “You look a sight better than when we dug you out of your coffin,” said Jitsui.

            That made Miyoshi give a soft laugh.  “I should hope so.”

            Odagiri felt like he should say something too . . . but he didn’t know what to say.  It had been so long since he’d seen Miyoshi, and they’d never been close.  It wasn’t unusual for him to find himself with no words when he needed them the most, but now . . .

            Miyoshi’s eyes drifted to Odagiri, as though waiting for him to say something.

            Odagiri could only give him a genuine smile.  But judging by the one Miyoshi gave him in return, he was pretty sure his intent got through.  He was glad Miyoshi was alright.  So glad.

            A welcome distraction arrived in the form of Hatano breezing into the kitchen and skidding to a stop in front of the three returnees.  His smug grin lit his face as he looked at Odagiri and Tazaki, then softened as his eyes finally came to rest on Jitsui.  “Welcome home.”

            “I’m home,” Jitsui said.  Then he surged forward and wrapped Hatano in a hug, which Hatano readily returned.  That wasn’t exactly unexpected.  D-Agency’s two youngest had always been close.  It was no secret that they shared a bed so that Jitsui could leach body heat from Hatano, which was pretty much a necessity for him in the winter.  Odagiri hadn’t really seen them hug or cuddle much outside of the bed they shared, but this could very easily have just been Jitsui trying to warm up quickly after coming in from the cold.

            No.  The unexpected part was when Jitsui, instead of stepping back after an appropriate amount of time had passed, instead reached up to cup Hatano’s face with both his hands.  But instead of immediately giving Hatano a passionate kiss, like a lover’s reunion scene in a movie, Jitsui pressed his forehead against Hatano’s, and just stared into his eyes for a long moment, as Hatano reached up to cover Jitsui’s hands with his own.  Then Jitsui kissed Hatano.  Sweetly.  Like he wasn’t just kissing him, but also cherishing him.  And when the kiss came to an end, Jitsui smiled angelically at Hatano, right before turning a defiant eye on the rest of the spies, as though daring them to voice anything even resembling disapproval.  That was when Odagiri realized that this was something new.  That Hatano and Jitsui hadn’t been in a relationship long, or at least hadn’t let the others know they were in a relationship before now.  But from the color in Hatano’s cheeks, and the fighting gleam in his eyes, and Jitsui’s defiant expression, Odagiri could tell that this was their first time revealing this to the others.

            “I had been wondering,” Fukumoto said, giving the two a small smile.

            “I’d pretty much figured it out,” Tazaki said.

            “Liar,” Jitsui shot back.

            “I’ve suspected ever since I picked the two of you up in Hakone,” said Tazaki.

            “Which is why you’ve been making clumsy inquiries into the matter ever since.  The last of which was only a few hours ago.”

            “I was wondering why you were trying to be so subtle about it.  It’s not like we wouldn’t have all figured it out from watching you interact.”

            “Which was why he decided to reveal it now, I’d wager,” said Miyoshi.  “So that we couldn’t wager on if they were or if they weren’t, and how long they planned on hiding it.”

            “Not exactly,” said Jitsui, eyeing Miyoshi with an odd intensity in his eyes.  “You know I’ve been thinking a lot about how the trip home for your group went.  You.  Hatano.  Yuuki-san.  In the freezing cargo hold, and you with hypothermia.  We all know the best cure for hypothermia.  And we know that Yuuki-san would have only been the one to warm you up if none of the rest of us were able to.”

            “It wasn’t – it was just an order,” Hatano protested.

            “I know,” Jitsui said, smiling angelically at Miyoshi.  “I’m just making sure Miyoshi knows.  And doesn’t get any ideas.  Because you’re too cute for your own good.  And you’re mine.  So I decided to make sure everyone knows it.”

            Then, without warning, he lunged at Hatano, taking even their resident martial arts expert by surprise and going for his throat.

            “What are you – Jitsui!” Hatano gasped but didn’t struggle.  Jitsui worked quickly and then stepped back a moment later.  Hatano’s collar hung open and at a low angle, so they could see the red mark Jitsui had left right where his neck met his shoulder, to mark what was his.

            “Ahem.”

            Yuuki’s cough had them all jumping and looking guiltily at their boss.  Odagiri couldn’t help but smirk as he saw Hatano struggle to get his collar buttoned and get that mark hidden.  As though there was any way Yuuki-san didn’t know it was there.  He’d probably seen the whole exchange.

            “You have all grown too lax in regards to protocols,” Yuuki said sternly, not just to Jitsui and Hatano, but to Tazaki, Odagiri, Fukumoto, and even Miyoshi as well.  “One of you remind me, what your first course of action should be upon returning from a mission.”

            “Checking in with you,” Odagiri answered sheepishly.  Even though he got the sense that Yuuki-san wasn’t actually mad.

            “Then why are you standing here in the entry hall fraternizing?” demanded Yuuki, glaring at them all, but with his sharp gaze ending on Jitsui who, quite suddenly, looked far too innocent.  It could have been Odagiri’s imagination, but that glare might have skipped over Hatano altogether, though their youngest stood there, back straight, with a glimmer of defiance in his eyes, keeping a firm hold on Jitsui’s hand.

            “Sorry, Yuuki-san,” said Tazaki, speaking a little louder than was necessary.  Definitely trying to pull attention away from their youngest ones.  “We should have remembered.  Shall we continue to your office to debrief?”

            “No.”  Yuuki turned around slowly, still maintaining his fake limp even in D-Agency, as he always did.  “Maintaining a sanitary environment is a higher priority than debriefing at this time.  Go shower and change out of your travel clothes.  I will debrief you individually in the first floor classroom, after dinner.”

            He left then, and it was Fukumoto who explained.  “There’s been illness in D-Agency while you were away.  Yuuki-san was sick.  His office hasn’t been sanitized yet.”

            “And he doesn’t want you lot bringing in more diseases from who knows where,” Hatano teased, trying to inject levity into the awkward situation.

            “You were sick too,” Jitsui said, looking at Hatano sympathetically.  “You’re so thin.”

            “I’m better now.  And Fukumoto’s been doing his damnedest to fix that,” Hatano said.  “You should probably follow Yuuki-san’s orders.  I’ll go help Fukumoto fix dinner.  I take it you could use the help?  Since there’s suddenly three more people to cook for?”  Hatano looked to Fukumoto.

            “Your help would be welcome.”

            Jitsui smiled angelically.  “Well, when I finish up, I’ll come help –”

            “No!” four voices said at once, very emphatically.  Of the spies in the room, only Miyoshi did not have bad memories of being force fed disgusting or overly spicy food by Jitsui.  He smirked at them all, clear amusement on his face. 

            “Just . . . go clean up, and when you’re finished, you can have Hatano back,” Fukumoto said.

            “I’ll take over helping then,” Odagiri offered.  “If . . . if that’s alright?”

            “Of course,” Fukumoto told him, eyes warm.

            “Amari and Kaminaga?” Tazaki asked before they headed upstairs, to the showers.  “Have they made it home?”

            “Not yet,” Miyoshi told him.

            Odagiri felt a momentary thrum of worry, but Jitsui was quick to dispel it.

            “Not surprising,” Jitsui commented on his way out of the entry hall.  “Kaminaga was the obvious choice to take over Miyoshi’s spy network.  And Amari will be taking as few risks as possible, so he’ll be taking longer.”

            “Assuming Yuuki-san didn’t arrange for him to fly home with the diplomatic mission,” said Fukumoto.  “Yuuki-san is soft on us like that.”

            It was true.  Odagiri knew this first hand, from several experiences.  The fact that he was still alive was his proof.  And the fact that Miyoshi was still alive.  Yuuki-san really did take care of them.  They were so very lucky to have him on their side. 

            Odagiri smiled, so glad to be home.


	15. Chapter 15

            With the return of Tazaki, Odagiri, and Jitsui, things definitely took a turn for the better, and a new kind of normal settled over D-Agency.  For some of them, life even fell into a pattern.  Very different from their training days when every new day brought a new lesson and a new challenge.  But not a bad kind of different.  Not at all.  Miyoshi once would have thought this lull boring, but after everything that had happened, he found that he could use a bit of boring.

            His schedule became pretty regular.  He began rising at around ten in the morning, getting out of bed and getting dressed on his own, then meeting the others in the cafeteria for breakfast.  The others had taken notice of his pattern and more often than not, most of them joined him.  Odagiri and Jitsui less than the others, since Yuuki-san had them starting their physical reconditioning and their regiments changed each day.  Some days they ran from dawn until dark, all around Tokyo, regardless of whether it was raining or snowing.  Other days were spent in different rooms of the agency: the weight room in particular, but also in various classrooms, like the lock picking one, where they were tied up with a variety of chains and other restraints, sometimes even a straitjacket, and had to escape using only bits of wire, or sometimes a hairpin if Yuuki-san was feeling generous.  Sometimes Hatano joined them, but more often than not, was ordered to remain at the agency, or forbidden from participating by Yuuki.  On those days, Hatano almost always had breakfast with Miyoshi.  Sometimes he even was the one to make the breakfast.  Miyoshi appreciated those days.  He hated to admit it, but he’d gotten used to Western food abroad.  Bread, in particular, which Hatano was very good at making . . . and sausage, which he did not bring up, because it just seemed so . . . unsophisticated, and like the sort of thing the others would tease him about, and he doubted Hatano could make it for him anyway with all the meat shortages, so it didn’t benefit him to reveal in any way.  He just enjoyed his toast with honey and the fried eggs Hatano occasionally made for him, and kept his taste for sausage to himself.

            After breakfast, Miyoshi played shogi with Sakuma.  Despite everything, the lieutenant had remained his student and kept at the game, and now knew all the rules, and various strategies.  He could play a decent game for a beginner, but was still leagues away from being able to hold his own against any of the spies.  Tazaki and Fukumoto sometimes joined them and played too.  Sometimes against Miyoshi while Sakuma spectated.  And sometimes against Sakuma.  They went easy on him, and helped him learn, but never let him win. 

            Before too long, Miyoshi ended up gaining another student.  It might just have been to keep her out of everyone else’s hair, or it might have been a stroke of sadism, or maybe Yuuki just thought Miyoshi needed more of a challenge, but Yuuki ordered Miyoshi to teach Emma how to play too.  At first, he struggled.  Emma couldn’t read kana, let alone the kanji symbols on the shogi tiles.  They meant nothing to her so just teaching her what each piece was turned out to be the biggest challenge of all until Tazaki had the bright idea of using clay made from flour, water, and glue to make custom tiles shaped like pigeons.  Then Emma was finally able to distinguish the difference between the King Pigeon and the Pawn Pigeons and the Knight Pigeons, and so on.  Then things got interesting.  Because much to their surprise, Emma was able to grasp the rules of the game.  And before long, Sakuma had an opponent he could play against and actually beat . . . most of the time.  Apparently Emma had already learned some of the simpler card games from the others, and like with Sakuma, the others never just let her win either.  So she already had some basis for learning what worked, and what didn’t, and how to adapt and learn more things that worked.  So every now and then she managed to eek out a victory against Sakuma, much to Sakuma’s chagrin and everyone else’s amusement. 

            Eventually, lunch rolled around, and after lunch Emma had a nap and Sakuma had paperwork to do.  So Miyoshi found other ways to occupy himself.  He could make it to the library now, though books on the higher shelves were strictly off limits unless he had someone to get them for him.  But he could easily find someone if he needed them, so he spent most of his afternoons reading.  He’d originally thought that Yuuki-san would begin delegating some paperwork to him, both to lighten his own load and to train Miyoshi, but for the first few weeks, Miyoshi received none.  Miyoshi wasn’t certain if this was because Yuuki wanted him to rest more before returning to work, or wanted him to undergo his chemical reconditioning before putting him back to work . . . though it was also possible that whatever Yuuki was working on was above Miyoshi’s security clearance even if he had finished his reconditioning. 

            Sometimes there were other things he could do to actually make himself useful during the afternoons.  On several occasions, one of the others would bring back a crate or two of Imperial army rations.  They would crack it open in the cafeteria, pull together a couple tables, and poured the contents out on top of one.  Miyoshi made himself useful by sorting the contents of them, keeping the stuff that could be opened and eaten immediately out of its packaging, like tinned meat or fruit, on one table, and moving the items that had to be cooked before eating (mainly rice) to another.  Then he sorted the items by food groups, keeping all the ones that were the same together, then wrote up an inventory of them and put the ready to eat foods back into the crate, leaving his inventory on top.  Then he moved the rice, a few packets at a time, into the kitchen to top off their stores. 

            Later in the afternoon, Miyoshi ate his mandatory, Yuuki-san-required snack.  Hatano always joined him for this.  Yuuki had determined that both of them needed to get back to a healthy weight, and the only way they could do that was by eating more.  Luckily for them, D-Agency had the means to keep everyone under its roof well fed.  So every afternoon, around 4:00 pm, Hatano would fix the two of them something to eat.  Usually just something small.  A rice ball and a small bowl of miso soup, or a handful of the nuts and dates that Jitsui, Odagiri, and Tazaki had brought back from their travels . . . and they really had brought an obscene amount of those back.  But every now and then, Hatano fixed dessert for that night’s dinner, and he and Miyoshi sampled it early.

            Dinners were always held in the agency.  Back in their training days, they’d often gone out to eat, but even if Miyoshi had been cleared to leave the agency, that wasn’t an option anymore.  More and more restaurants were closing, and more and more men were getting drafted into the army.  Large groups of non-military men stood out like a sore thumb.

            Not that eating in was bad, by any means.  Fukumoto had always been the equal of any restaurant’s best chef, even by Miyoshi’s picky standards.  And D-Agency was lucky to have more food than most.  The company was good too.  Some days Jitsui and Odagiri were too exhausted to talk much, but Tazaki and Hatano were always able to make interesting conversation and fill the silences.  Miyoshi often contributed to the conversations too.  But what wasn’t said was just as interesting.

            There was tension between Odagiri and Fukumoto.  Both were happy to see each other again, but Odagiri’s decision to leave had strained their bond.  Perhaps talking would repair it, but both men were quiet, and Odagiri had his conditioning, leaving him constantly exhausted. 

            Hatano and Jitsui were at the opposite end of the spectrum, happy, and in love, and so cute it was sickening.  When Jitsui had free time, they were always together.  Often curled up, sharing the same blanket by the fire, while Jitsui read and Hatano either read a book of his own, napped, or just relaxed against his boyfriend.  At dinner they always sat next to one another.  Sometimes they held hands under the table, and everyone knew except Sakuma, who didn’t pick up on the fact that one of them was using his chopsticks in his non-dominant hand.  Honestly, Miyoshi really was happy for them.  They were two of his best friends.  They were the little brothers that he should have had.  They deserved some happiness in their lives . . . for however long what they had could last.  He couldn’t guess how long they’d be able to stay together anymore than they could.  But for their sakes, he hope it lasted a good long time.

            It was a peaceful, happy existence.  For all of them.  It was the kind of thing Miyoshi never expected to actually have.  He had a lot to be grateful for.  Sometimes, as he sat by a window with a book in his lap, watching snow fall, or lay in bed in the infirmary, warm from the fire in the next room over, and from the pile of blankets his many nursemaids made sure he had on his bed, he couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was that everything had turned out like it had.  He’d come so close to death in Germany.  He’d almost given up and let himself bleed out.  It was only dumb luck that he’d had quinine on him at the time, the one invisible ink ingredient that could double as a muscle relaxer.  There was no way he could have stopped himself from shivering and giving himself away for so long without it.  Then it was also dumb luck that the dosage had been right, especially since he’d had no idea what the dosage levels of it were.  And how he’d even known quinine could double as a muscle relaxer . . . that had been dumb luck too, a careless bit of trivia thrown out randomly after a boring pharmacology lesson, by a smug little bastard who’d slept through the lesson.  Miyoshi hadn’t even remembered it until after a pain induced hallucination had him grasping at straws and checking his wallet for anything that might help keep him alive and get him out of his impossible predicament. 

            Miyoshi should have died in that train wreck.  He knew it too.  And maybe . . . maybe it had been selfish of him to even try to survive.  He certainly hadn’t known Yuuki would drag every single other D-Agency spy into the rescue attempt, putting them all at risk.  If he had known . . . Miyoshi might very well have made a different decision.  He couldn’t help but feel humbled every time he thought about what they’d risked for him. Normally he didn’t like feeling humbled.  But this time . . .

            This time it was just nice to know he had people who cared.

            He remembered, with more than a little distaste, the family he’d left behind.  The one he hadn’t mattered to.  The parents who’d been resentful that their son had been so much smarter than they were, and the siblings who’d latched on to that resentment and used it as an excuse to be cruel.  The emotional and physical pain had forged Miyoshi into the man he was today.  The cool, aloof spy who never flinched, and cut down idiots with his sharp tongue and superior intellect . . . and who somehow, after he had stopped trying, managed to get everything he always wanted.

            . . . Well, almost everything.  He still needed Kaminaga and Amari to get home.  And there was a certain lieutenant who still didn’t see Miyoshi the way he wanted him to . . . but having things left to reach for kept life interesting. 

 

* * *

 

 

            Eventually Yuuki did begin giving Miyoshi some paperwork.  Nothing too heavy, just some administrative tasks he felt comfortable delegating to his more trusted subordinates.  That gave him something else to do during his afternoons and evenings, and he couldn’t deny, it felt good to get back to work.  He was also fully debriefed by Yuuki on his Germany mission.  Granted, Yuuki had already gotten the microfilm that had contained the spy network Miyoshi had built there, all information Miyoshi had relating to it, and various other secrets he’d uncovered, and in their meeting in Germany before the wreck, Miyoshi had given him all the most current, most useful information he’d had at the time.  But there were still details Yuuki wanted to know.  Things that had seemed inconsequential even to Miyoshi, but which, when strung together, could provide even more insight into the state of their nation’s ally. 

            And that was something that Miyoshi was still having a hard time wrapping his head around, even after months.  Japan allying itself with Germany.  Most people, Miyoshi included, had expected Japan to ally with Britain and France.  Miyoshi had been briefed, before his mission, that he very likely might find himself a persona non grata, and might have to flee the country while staying completely under the radar.  After China had aligned itself with the Allies, the political scape had changed.  But after what Miyoshi had found out about the Germans and how they were operating . . . how they were treating citizens of their own country . . . Miyoshi had been thoroughly disgusted.  He had relayed his discoveries to Yuuki in their meeting.  That had been why he’d signaled to Yuuki the need for an urgent meeting.  By now his information had to have made its way to Japan’s military leaders.  Miyoshi wondered if they were having second thoughts about their alliance now . . . or not.  He wouldn’t really be surprised either way.  Hell, maybe he had been naïve to think that information had even a fifty percent chance of changing their military’s mind about their ally.  But Miyoshi found himself with more doubts about his country now than ever before. 

            But in the end, it wasn’t his country that mattered to him.  It was D-Agency that mattered.  His only reason for ever becoming a spy was because he wanted to be on the winning side.  And it was preferable for his home nation to be the winning side, to ensure his survival.  As a spy, he was in a better position than most to switch sides, or simply disappear if everything went to hell.  He’d once had numerous contingency plans for escaping solo if Japan lost the war, or turned on D-Agency, or just went so far off the rails that the country and its war were clearly a lost cause.  But Miyoshi had changed his way of thinking.  Yuuki-san had shown how much he prioritized his students’ survival.  He’d gone all in for Miyoshi.  Which made something Miyoshi had never thought of before apparent.  D-Agency was a side unto itself.  And that was where Miyoshi’s loyalties were.  He wasn’t so melodramatic to make claims about following Yuuki-san to the ends of the earth, but for a man who invested that much effort into keeping one of his own alive . . . well.  Unless something happened to change Miyoshi’s perspectives again, he had no reason not to believe Yuuki would do everything he could to keep them all alive and make sure they were on the winning side.

            Joining D-Agency was definitely the best decision Miyoshi had ever made.


End file.
